Halloween: Hidden Agendas
by KLeslie
Summary: At the age of fifteen, Heather Veers was pressured into starting a relationship with Sean Reid by her mother. Two years later Heather meets Michael Myers, and he ends up saving her life. However, she later learns that the presumed act of mercy is really a Boogeyman's hidden agenda. But he is not the only one keeping secrets...
1. June 20, 2008

Halloween: Hidden Agendas

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters, places, or events that originated from ANY of the Halloween films.

 **Author's Notes:** This Halloween story is based on John Carpenter's Halloween. Unlike my other stories, Hidden Agendas does not follow any particular story-line within the Halloween series. This story is actually based off one of my very first drafts of A Dark Reality. The two stories ended up being very different from each other, so I decided to publish Hidden Agendas as its own entity. Like A Dark Reality and Restoration, Hidden Agendas is still a work-in-progress.

 **This story is rated M because of language, child abuse; violence; and explicit sexual content, including: rape, and consensual sex. Because of these adult themes, please use discretion before reading**.

 **Summary:** At the age of fifteen, Heather Veers was pressured into starting a relationship with Sean Reid by her mother. Two years later Heather meets Michael Myers, and he ends up saving her life. However, she later learns that the presumed act of mercy is really a Boogeyman's hidden agenda. But he is not the only one keeping secrets...

* * *

 **Haddonfield, Illinois**

 **June 20, 2008**

"Girl, hurry up!" Heather's mother called from the living room. "Mr. Reid will be here any minute now."

The fifteen-year-old's hands shook as she ran a brush through her wavy sandy-blonde locks one last time.

"You look nervous," her older sister Gina noted.

"I am," Heather admitted.

"Don't be. Everything will be fine. Mr. Reid is a very nice man."

The younger girl studied her reflection in the mirror where a pair of sorrowful stone-gray eyes stared back at her. "Why does Mother hate me so much?" she asked.

"Our mother does not hate you, Heather," Gina sternly replied. "She is simply looking out for your best interest. Let's face it, you haven't been the same since Dad died."

Heather turned around and said, "She wishes it would have been me, you know. That's why she's making me do this."

Gina's jade eyes narrowed. "Don't be ridiculous, Heather. Really."

"Fine," she conceded. "So, how do I look?"

Sighing, Gina shook her head. "Undo the first two buttons of your blouse."

"What?!" Heather gasped. "Why?"

The brunette teenager smirked. "It's called being flirtatious, little sister. Every man likes to see a hint of boob."

Heather instantly frowned. "Gina, I don't know…"

"Come on, Heather," the older scolded. "Don't be such a prude."

"Okay, okay." Heather followed her sister's suggestion and then dropped her arms to her side. "Better?" she asked.

Gina nodded. "Much."

On her way out of the bedroom, Heather received a wink from Gina, though she was unsure as to why. For some reason, though, it made her very uneasy.

A few moments later the teenager entered the living room where her mother and a tall auburn-haired man were waiting. His piercing blue eyes slowly dropped from Heather's face to her open blouse, a small grin appearing on his lips.

"Heather, meet Mr. Sean Reid," her mother curtly commanded.

"Hello," the blonde girl shyly greeted.

Sean raised his eyes and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Heather. Shall we go?"

She cast her eyes to the elegant golden-haired woman standing next to him. Her mother met her stare and gave her a subtle nod. Despite her reservations about Sean, Heather had no choice but to obey.

They left the house and silently walked to a blue Corvette. It didn't surprise the teenager that this man had money. Her mother did have a reputation to uphold after all.

While Heather got situated in her seat, Sean started the ignition. "I like your blouse," he said.

"Thanks," she softly answered.

He gave her a sideways glance. "So...you're fifteen years old."

Heather nodded. "Yes."

"And still a virgin?"

The teenager's cheeks turned hot. "What?"

The man sighed impatiently. "Has a man's penis ever penetrated your vagina?"

"No!" Heather exclaimed, beyond embarrassed now. Why on earth did that matter?

"Good."

Heather fell silent while Sean drove across town to an area where the majority of people with new money lived. He pulled into a long driveway, which ended at a large brick red house. He parked his Corvette in the double-car garage and said, "Come, let's go inside."

Heather followed Sean into the house. He wordlessly guided her upstairs to the master suite. Her eyes couldn't help but land on the ornately carved four-poster king-sized bed, which was covered with a black satin bedspread and gray sheets.

"Looking at you in that blouse all this time got me so hard," Sean said. "Why don't you lay down so we can do something about it, huh?"

Heather stared at the bed but didn't move. What was he planning to do to her? "You mean like sex?" she asked in a small voice.

"Yeah, like sex," he calmly answered. "It's really no big deal, not like most girls think. You just take off your jeans, I pull my cock out, then I stick it into your pussy, and a few minutes later we come. It's fun, but it's not the monumental event that people make it out to be. So, what do you say? Do you want to have sex?"

Heather considered Sean's words. No boy had ever shown this type of interest in her, and she had to admit, it made her feel kind of special. "Okay," she agreed. "I guess we can do that."

"Great. Your mother will be so proud."

The blonde girl's heart swelled. Finally, she would be doing something that would please her mother. That hadn't happened in a very long time.

She eagerly climbed onto the mattress and undressed her lower half. If having sex meant earning her mother's approval, she was all for it. All she wanted was to feel loved again.

"Good girl," Sean praised while he undid his khakis, freeing his long slender penis.

Heather stared at it, curious as to how he was going to make it all fit inside of her. Smirking, he joined her on the bed, spread her legs open, and pressed the head of his cock against her damp folds.

"Ready?" Sean asked.

Heather nodded. "Yes."

Without any other warning, he slammed into her. She screamed as he tore through her virgin barrier. However, within a few moments, he stilled, and the pain slowly subsided.

"It's been awhile since I've had the pleasure of popping a girl's cherry," said Sean. "Your pussy feel so hot and tight. I'm going to fuck it now."

Heather simply nodded, giving him her consent.

The man instantly began pumping in and out of her. She went along with the motions, countering his hard thrusts just to keep him from hurting her too badly. He grunted and groaned as he fucked her, seemingly enjoying himself. Then, all at once, he pulled out and shot his hot sticky sperm all over Heather's face and hair. She no longer felt special; she felt humiliated.

"That's for not coming with me," he said. "Now get up on your hand and knees. I want to fuck you from behind."

Heather wordlessly obeyed. She closed her eyes while Sean entered her and solely focused on his movements. She moaned when he hit a very sensitive spot deep within her body. As he pounded her, he continued to hit that spot. She fisted the bed sheets, desperately wanting something she was unable to name.

"That's it, girl," Sean encouraged. "Come for me."

All at once, Heather's body shook and her toes curled. She clung to the bedding as she reached the pentacle of pure bliss.

With one last thrust, Sean drove his cock deep within her. He then went rigid. In that moment, Heather felt a steady flow of hot liquid hit her inner walls.

She wasn't quite sure what had happened to her, but gradually the euphoria of the experience started to fade, leaving her feeling strangely empty inside.

Sean withdrew from her and then helped her off his bed. "Go and get cleaned up," he ordered, pointing to the adjoining bathroom. "Then, I'll take you home."

"Okay," Heather numbly replied. She grabbed her clothes and scurried into the washroom. She couldn't wait to get away from Sean.

* * *

When Sean and Heather arrived at her house, he accompanied her inside. Her mother greeted them at the door and immediately ushered them into her study so that they could talk privately. She sat down at her desk while Heather and Sean occupied seats opposite her.

"Well?" her mother asked, addressing Sean. "Will this arrangement work?"

"Have you read the contract?" he countered.

"I have."

"Then you tell me," he said.

Heather's confused gaze shifted from one adult to the other. What on earth were they discussing.

Her mother opened a drawer. She pulled out a manilla folder, which contained a thick packet of papers. She set the packet on the desk and said, "Everything looks to be in order. Heather will be spending Friday nights through Sunday mornings with you, correct?"

Sean nodded. "Yes. I thought that would give her enough time to keep up with her schoolwork during the school year."

"Plenty," her mother agreed.

Heather's heart plummeted to her stomach. Was she really going to be living with this man on the weekends? The answer came a moment later.

"Then it's settled," Sean said, "as long as you signed the contract."

Her mother turned to the last page and showed it to him. "I have."

"Good. All we need now is the girl's signature to make this deal final." He reached into his shirt pocket and handed Heather an ink pen. "Go ahead, girl. Sign it."

She stared down at the packet, her hand trembling. "May I at least read it first?" she boldly asked.

Sean shook his head. "There's no reason for that. You'll learn of the specifics during the course of our time together."

When the teenager still hesitated, her mother spoke. "Heather, Mr. Reid is offering you something no other man will. If you sign this contract, you will never have to worry about your future. You will be set for life. Don't you want that? Don't you want to make me happy?"

Heather's brow furrowed. "Of course I do, Mother. You know that."

"Then be a good girl and sign on the dotted line," the golden-haired woman commanded.

Armed with the hope of regaining her mother's love, Heather added her name to Sean's contract.

"Very good," her mother said. "I'll leave you two alone now. Good night, Mr. Reid."

He smirked. "Come now, Melissa; we're practically family. You may call me Sean."

"Of course," she replied. "Good night, then, Sean."

"Good night."

Once her mother left, the auburn-haired man turned to Heather. His blue eyes glinted at her in the low light. Then, he spoke the words that would end up haunting her for a long time.

"Girl, you are now mine."


	2. March 27, 2010

**TWO YEARS LATER**

 **Haddonfield, Illinois**

 **March 27, 2010**

Heather fell to her knees the instant her wrists were freed from the shackles hanging from the basement ceiling. Sean merely smirked at her as he returned his flogger to its rightful hook on the wall. He had flogged her twenty times, striping her back, bottom, and thighs with painful red welts. Although this wasn't an uncommon occurrence, he had taken it to a whole new level today.

Sean watched Heather crawl to her clothes and then stomped upstairs, not even bothering to fuck her. Over the last few months, his violent nature had become much more prominent. He'd rather hurt her than give her pleasure, which raised her suspicions that he was no longer being faithful to her.

Heather dressed back into her baggy maroon sweatshirt, blue jeans, black panties, and white tennis shoes before heading upstairs. She found Sean in the kitchen, sipping a glass of red wine. He didn't even acknowledge her existence until she asked, "Is there somebody else, Sean?"

He scoffed at her from behind his glass. "I suppose there could be," he vaguely replied. "As you are well aware, our contract does not limit me to one sexual partner at a time."

"Yet you demand me to remain faithful to you," said Heather.

"That's because you are mine. I control you, not the other way around."

The teenager frowned. "So, has she signed a contract as well?"

Sean glared at Heather. "Watch yourself, girl. You aren't in any position to question my other relationships. You should know your place by now."

Furious and hurt more than she'd care to admit, Heather crossed the living room and flung open the front door. Sheets of rain plummeted down from the dark heavens, yet that did not deter her from scampering out of the house. Within seconds she became a sopping wet mess.

"Girl, stop!" Sean hollered above the noise of the rain as he followed her across the yard.

Heather paused, impatiently wiping her blondish wet bangs away from her stone-gray eyes. "What, Sean?" she snapped.

"You know the rule. You aren't allowed to go home until tomorrow morning."

The teenager irately shook her head. "No, Sean, I'm done playing your games. I can't take this anymore."

His blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "Girl, you are treading on very thin ice," he warned. "Now, get your ass back inside. I'm not finished with you, yet."

Sean reached for her arm, but Heather took a few quick steps back. "Well, I am," she said. "Good-bye, Sean." She spun on her heels, but he suddenly leapt in front of her, successfully closing the gap between them.

"You aren't going anywhere, girl. You are contractually bound to me."

"To Hell with the contract, Sean!" Heather angrily shouted. "I'm done!"

The hard punch to the temple came before the teenager could prepare herself for it. She fell backwards painfully onto the soaked lawn. While she laid on the grass in a daze, Sean reached into her jeans and stole her cell phone.

"If you want this back, you're going to have to come inside and get it."

Heather shakily rose to her feet, her head still swimming from the blow it took. Sean sneered at her, but this time she refused to take the bait. Instead she stumbled towards the sidewalk.

"So, you're really going to leave, huh?" he asked. "No worries. I know you will be back-sooner rather than later, I expect. Your mother will make sure of it."

Heather didn't bother to respond, because Sean was right. Her return was inevitable. However, leaving gave her a temporary sense of power. Maybe one day she would muster the courage to leave him for good and end the abuse once and for all.

Feeling woozy, Heather raised a hand to her temple, wincing when her fingers discovered a large lump. There was no way she would make the long trek home in her condition, so she decided to hunt for another place where she could wait out the weather.

Heather kept walking until she reached the halfway point between Sean's house and hers. She stopped at a familiar street corner and instinctively lifted her eyes to the street sign that read Lampkin Lane. She stared at it, her mind racing. She knew the town's notorious spook house would be vacant, therefore making it the perfect spot to take shelter from the rain.

She trudged up to the old white house and slowly turned the front door knob. The door creaked open on its rusty hinges, announcing her arrival. Heather quickly scanned the dark living room for any signs of life. When she didn't see any, she cautiously entered the abandoned structure.

Her footsteps fell silent on the dust-covered floor, though the wooden boards under Heather's feet moaned in protest as she sauntered to the far side of the room. She hunkered down to the floor with her back facing the wall. She laid down in the fetal position, trying her best to conserve body heat. She was drenched from head to toe and chilled to the bone.

Heather's constant shivering was making her head throb, so she buried her face into her soaked sleeves and relaxed against the floor. She was on the brink of unconsciousness when something firm nudged her side. She wanted to delve deeper into the darkness where the pain and cold no longer existed, but the nudging became more persistent and harder to ignore. She moaned in protest as the warm blankets of sleep slipped away from her.

Suddenly, a set of fingers dug into Heather's hair and roughly jerked her head up. A cry of pain escaped her lips while her eyes groggily opened. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her vision. She gasped again once she saw who had ahold of her. A man wearing a white expressionless mask and a navy blue mechanic's uniform was staring down at her-a man whose murderous reputation proceeded him. "Michael Myers," she mumbled under her breath.

He cocked his head, the dark eyeholes of his mask trained on her face. They stared upon each other for a full minute, neither one moving until Haddonfield's boogeyman lifted his other hand. In his fist, he wielded a large butcher knife.

Heather instinctively tried to back away from the knife's sharp blade, but Michael's grip on her locks tightened while he guided the sharp edge of the blade down the front of her maroon sweatshirt. After successfully slicing through the wet fabric, he eyed her bare breasts, his knife instantaneously falling to the floor.

Heather jumped when he rubbed his warm palm over her taut nipples. "Michael, don't," she begged, reaching for his hand. "Stop. Please."

The killer's attention was suddenly diverted to the girl's wrists. He secured them both in his hand and then studied the red marks that marred her pale skin. Her breath caught in her chest when his thumb lightly traced the raw impressions, which Sean's shackles had left behind.

Michael lifted his head, his dark orbs glinting at Heather from behind his mask. While they silently regarded one another, he abruptly raised her hands above her head. He let go of her hair in exchange for her wrists. Then, he returned his other hand to her breasts. He pinched her right nipple, hard.

Heather drew in a sharp breath. To her shock, she felt her panties dampen. "Michael…" she pleaded, completely embarrassed by her body's reaction. "Please, stop."

Without taking his eyes off her, his fingers traveled to her left breast. They gave that nipple a sharp tug. Heather bit her bottom lip, stifling a half gasp half moan. She clenched her thighs together, shameful of the feelings his touch was producing down there.

Keeping a strong hold on her wrists, the Boogeyman removed his hand from her breasts and boldly slipped it into the front of her jeans. Heather struggled, but she was unable to stop him from finding her wet clit and playing with it. "Michael!" she scolded, hating how husky her voice sounded in her ears. He must have heard it, too, because he promptly shifted his hand and shoved two fingers deep into her hot core.

Heather gasped loudly. She mentally berated the killer for what he was doing to her. However, her body loved the attention he was giving it as evident by how wet her pussy was getting. "Michael…" she moaned. "Oh fuck...please no...please stop…" But his fingers continued their relentless thrusting, and she eventually came all over them.

Once Heather's orgasm subsided, Michael pulled his hand out of her pants and released her wrists. He then pushed her backwards, forcing her to lie down on her back, unaware of the pain it caused her. After everything she had been through, she no longer possessed the will to fight him, even as he finished undressing her.

Michael unzipped his coveralls and positioned himself between her legs. He bent her knees and spread her thighs apart, giving him a clear view of her glistening pussy. Then, with one strong thrust, he entered her.

Heather whimpered as the killer's thick cock stretched her inner walls. Although she wasn't a virgin by any means, Sean never made her feel so full. It was painful, yet also very sensual, if that made any sense at all. But maybe it wasn't supposed to make sense. Maybe she was just supposed to enjoy it.

Heather gazed into the eyeholes of the Boogeyman's mask and simply said, "Fuck me, Michael."

He gave his head a sharp nod and then started pounding her. Heather moaned softly as he worked her up to her second orgasm. She closed her eyes, losing herself to the moment.

A soft stroke on her cheek made her eyelids fly open. Michael was staring down at her, his cock still thrusting in and out of her messy opening. "Yes, I like this," she told him, answering his unasked question. "You feel good- _really_ good."

Seemingly encouraged, he continued to fuck Heather at a rapid pace. Within minutes, she felt another climax building up inside of her. This time she couldn't refrain from showing Michael her pleasure. Her back arched and her toes curled as her body quivered uncontrollably beneath his. She cried out his name in wanton abandonment while she toppled over the edge.

The Boogeyman came, too, though with a lot less fanfare. He quietly grunted in Heather's ear before shooting a load of hot seed deep into her womb.

"Fuck, Michael," she muttered. "I'm sure glad I'm on birth control. That was a lot of cum you just gave me."

He obsidian orbs suddenly narrowed as he pulled out of the girl's sore and sticky pussy. At least she finally felt warm, despite her nakedness.

Michael zipped up his uniform, his eyes never leaving Heather's. She wondered what he was thinking. Had he enjoyed their time together, or did he just think of her as a convenient distraction? It was impossible to tell.

The killer's gaze lingered on her a moment longer before he abruptly turned on his heels and left the room. Assuming she had received her answer, Heather was genuinely surprised when he returned carrying a large aged quilt. He knelt at her side and securely wrapped the quilt around her curvaceous frame, preserving her newly found warmth.

Heather grazed her lips against Michael's masked cheek. "Thank you," she said.

He immediately rose to his feet, obviously taken aback by her brazen kiss.

"Sorry," she apologized. "I didn't mean to offend you."

The Boogeyman gave her one last look before once again stalking out of the room. This time, however, he did not return.

Eventually, Heather risked sitting up on her own. Her head still hurt, but the constant throbbing had ceased, making her feel well enough to walk home. She quickly dressed back into her panties, jeans, and shoes. Her sweatshirt was not salvageable, so she left it on the floor and kept the quilt instead.

The teenager knew she must have looked quite silly walking around Haddonfield's neighborhoods dressed the way she was, but nobody said a word to her on her journey home.

Heather reached her house just before sunset. She was in the midst of trotting up the front steps when the door suddenly flew open. "Where the Hell have you been, young lady?" her mother angrily demanded. "Sean called and said you had left his house in a huff. That was over three hours ago. Three hours, girl! You'd better have a good explanation for your temporary disappearance."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Heather hastily said. "I got stuck in the rain and decided to wait it out at a friend's house."

"What friend?" her mother demanded.

The teenager shrugged. "Just a girl from school," she vaguely replied. "I really don't know her very well."

"Well, a phone call still would have been nice."

Heather cringed at her mother's reprimanding tone. "I guess I didn't think you'd be that worried about me," she confessed.

"Of course I was worried, you silly girl. What kind of mother do you think I am?"

"I'm sorry, Mom," Heather emphatically repeated. "I really am, okay?"

The golden-haired woman crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine." Then her blue eyes widened as though they were seeing Heather for the first time. "Good lord, girl!" she gasped."What happened to your clothes? Don't tell me you're naked underneath there."

Heather sighed. "Not completely. I fell as I was walking and ripped my shirt. My jeans are fine, though. See?" Heather tugged the quilt up, giving her mother a better view of her legs."

"Couldn't your friend have at least offered to lend you any of her shirts to wear? Good grief."

"She did," Heather lied, "but they weren't my size."

Her mother huffed. "I told you that you need to go on a diet. Now maybe you'll actually listen to me."

The blonde girl cast her eyes to the floor. It was true she wasn't as thin as some girls, but to say she was overweight was a bit of a stretch. Still, maybe her mother was right. Maybe losing a few pounds wouldn't hurt.

"I'm surprised Sean still wants you with the way you let yourself go. You don't even try anymore. What's wrong with you, huh?"

"Nothing, Mom," Heather quietly replied. "I'll try harder, I promise."

"Fine, fine. So, what made you leave Sean's house in the pouring rain? You know you're supposed to stay with him until tomorrow morning."

Heather shrugged. "We had a spat."

"A spat?" her mother repeated, aghast. "Girl, you have no business arguing with him."

"I know, Mom, but I think he's dating another girl."

Her mother's expression hardened. "Honestly, girl, do you really blame him? Even if you were to shed a few pounds and put some effort into your appearance, I doubt it would be enough to keep him from seeking out other women. Unfortunately for you, you did not inherit my natural beauty or your late father's dashing looks. You're such a plain girl-a disappointment really. It's a shame you didn't turn out more like your sister."

Heather felt moisture tickle her eyelashes, but she refused to shed one tear in front of her mother.

"Now go up to your room and change into some decent clothes," her mother ordered. "Then, I want you to go back to Sean's and beg for his forgiveness. Understand?"

Heather nodded. "Yes, Mom." She dashed to her bedroom, glad to be out of her mother's presence. She closed the door and then sat before her vanity.

The teenager let the quilt fall from her shoulders to her waist so that she could better study her reflection. She stared into the oval mirror, beginning to see the same girl her mother saw-the girl with dirty-blonde hair, dull gray eyes, and a curvy figure that could withstand to lose a few pounds. Her mother was right; she wasn't much to look at at all.

Heather somberly pulled open a small drawer and grabbed a pale pink panty, foregoing the matching bra. She didn't want anything of that nature touching the painful welts on her back.

The teenager reached into another drawer and pulled out a pair of indigo jeans. Then, she walked to her closet. From its contents, she chose to wear a pink and navy plaid flannel shirt that was lined with soft white fleece.

Once she was dressed in her dry clothes, Heather grabbed her purse and left her bedroom. From there she walked outside, got into her plum Chevy Prism, and drove back to Sean's house.

As usual, Heather parked on the street. She treaded up his driveway and soundly knocked on the front door. A moment later Sean opened it and ushered her inside.

"So…?" he asked.

Heather nervously ran a hand through her hair. "Look, Sean, I'm sorry about earlier. I royally messed up. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Yes, as long as your apology includes a round of makeup sex," he answered.

A chill suddenly came over the teenager. Although she was under contract to oblige Sean, the thought of him touching her made her feel physically ill.

"What's the matter, girl-having second thoughts?"

Heather shook her head, determined not to dwell on her time with Michael. That experience was in the past, and not likely to ever happen again.

"Well…?" Sean pressed.

"No, of course not."

"Good." Sean reached for her shirt's buttons and proceeded to pop them open. "Girl, you have such nice tits," he said, planting light kisses over the swell of her breasts.

Heather stared down at his crown. "Is that all you like about me?"

"Well, those and your pussy. I love banging it with my cock. You cream more than any other girl I've been with. It's incredible really."

Heather's cheeks turned crimson. Was sex the only thing she was good for? Was there nothing else about her to like? Obviously not.

Sean shoved her backwards onto his sofa. She fell against the cushions and allowed him to bare her entire body. He slapped her breasts a few times, leaving behind stinging pink handprints. He did the same to her inner thighs. Then, he flipped her over and harshly spanked her already sore bottom. Heather squirmed uncomfortably.

"This is for leaving me earlier. Did you understand?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered between spankings.

When Sean finished disciplining her, he forced her up onto all fours. He quickly unzipped his jeans and entered her from behind.

"Oh fuck, girl," he groaned. "You're so damn wet. Listen to your juices sloshing around my cock. It feels so good."

But Heather wasn't paying much attention to Sean or his fucking. In fact, she was trying her best to ignore him. She closed her eyes, imaging she was anywhere else. However, the image that filled her mind was the memory of her and Michael Myers laying on the floor together, fucking until they had both come.

"Oh, yeah, girl. That's it. Milk all the cum out of me."

Sean's voice shattered her sensual memory, bringing her back into the present. To her dismay that meant facing a reality where she and Sean had just orgasmed, and the evidence of how much was now dripping down her thighs.

Heather shakily rose to her feet and sauntered to the kitchen. Using a damp paper towel, she cleaned herself up. Sean watched her from the doorway.

"Does your ass hurt?" he asked.

"Yes, why?"

He lightly stroked his cock, making it hard again.

"I want to fuck it so bad," he said.

Heather hated anal sex, but she knew better than to say no to Sean. Her body couldn't withstand another flogging. "Okay, Sean, but can you please use lube this time? Please?"

He studied her for a long moment, appearing displeased by her request. Finally, he said, "All right, girl. Come, let's go to my room."

Once in the master suite, Sean positioned Heather facedown on his large bed with her bottom raised for easy access. Then, she heard him slide open the drawer underneath the mattress in which he kept all of his toys and lubricants.

After a few long moments, Sean closed the drawer and joined Heather on the bed. The painful sting of a wooden paddle swatting her raw bottom came next. She bit down on her lower lip, willing herself not to scream.

Heather felt Sean's anger with every strike. However, she vowed not to show him how much he was hurting her. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

After several more crude spankings, Sean finally set the paddle aside. Heather expected him to trade it for the lube. Instead, though, he mounted her from behind and forced his erection into her pussy. She clinched her eyes closed, wishing this night would just end.

"You're as dry as a bone," Sean said as he rocked against the teenager. "Too bad for you, because I was going to use your juices as lube. Oh well. I guess you'll just have to endure a little more pain."

Sean pulled out of Heather and repositioned himself at her sphincter. She clenched his bedding as he penetrated the small hole with his the head of his cock. He slowly fucked her, going deeper with each thrust until he was fully sheathed inside of her.

Despite her resolve to stay quiet, Heather groaned low in her throat. The burning sensation was almost unbearable, and it only got worse as Sean picked up his pace.

"Am I hurting you?" he gruffly asked.

"Yes," she meekly confessed.

"Good."

A few minutes later Sean finally climaxed, filling Heather's rectum with his cum. She hadn't joined him, but he didn't seem to care as he left the bed. He went to his closet and pulled out four long leather straps.

Heather saw them and started to panic. "No, please-"

"Give me your hands and feet, girl. I will not have you running off on me again." When she hesitated, Sean said, "Give them to me, or I swear I will whip you into submission."

Heather knew he would make good on his promise, so she surrendered her limbs. He secured each one to their opposing bedpost, rendering them useless.

Once Heather was completely immobilized, Sean stepped away from the bed and studied her naked form. "There, that should hold you. Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to make a few phone calls. I'll be back in awhile."

As Heather lay alone in the dark, her thoughts unavoidably traveled back to her time with Michael. Even though he had exhibited dominance over her, there were moments when he had shown her tenderness as well. She couldn't forget the gentle manner in which he had examined her wrists, or of the way he had touched her cheek during sex, or of the kindness he had displayed afterwards by fetching his quilt for her. Sean never showed her any type of affection before, during, or after they fucked. She was no more than a plaything for him and he treated her as such.

With Michael, however, it felt as though he was trying to connect with her on some level - that he considered her to be more than a mere sex toy. Then again, maybe she was reading too much into his seemingly caring actions. He was a ruthless killer after all. To believe he could be anything more than that was just setting herself up for bitter disappointment.

Eventually, Heather stopped thinking about Michael and drifted off to sleep. What seemed like only seconds later she was rudely awakened by a sharp sting of a whip. It struck her right between her breasts, stealing the breath right out of her.

Sean stood at the foot of the bed holding the weapon, but it only took her a moment to realize that he was not alone. Silhouettes of three other men stood just behind him. Seeing them made her blood run cold.

"I thought about what you said earlier," Sean stated. "Perhaps you do deserve to experience sex with different men. Maybe, then, you will come to appreciate me more."

"Sean, you know that wasn't what I meant," Heather urgently replied, her heart racing. "Please do not do this to me."

Smirking, he set the whip down. "It's too late for that, girl. Have fun. I'll see you in the morning." With that Sean left, shutting the door soundly behind him.

Although she was petrified, Heather remained docile as the three men approached the bed. She knew that no amount of crying, screaming, or begging for mercy was going to save her. She closed her eyes, blocking out their pale faces leering at her in the dark. However, that did not stop her from feeling their groping hands, exploring tongues, and thrusting cocks violate her body far into the night.

At some point before daybreak, Heather's eyes finally opened. They stared blankly up at the ceiling as the men continued to rape her. One man called it creepy, yet it didn't stop him from adding more seed to her already cum-filled pussy.

Heather could feel their fluids leaking out from both her holes, soaking the bedding underneath her bottom. The men laughed and made crude jokes about it while they rested with her on the bed. Then, it started all over again.


	3. March 28, 2010

**ONE DAY LATER**

 **Haddonfield, Illinois**

 **March 28, 2010**

When morning arrived, so did Sean. He sent his three acquaintances on their way and then joined Heather on the bed. She didn't react to him at all as he fucked her. She was past the point of caring what was done to her body. She felt completely numb to everything.

When he finished, Sean leaned forward and brushed his lips against Heather's. That was the closest he had ever come to kissing her.

"You are mine," he said.

She met his sapphire orbs and gave him the only response that made sense to her anymore. "Yes."

Sean grinned. "Then, I think it's time to make it official. Would you like that?"

Heather could no longer deny that he completely owned her, so fighting him now was utterly pointless. "Yes. I'll do anything you want, Sean."

"I knew you would come around, girl," he gloated. He sat up and began untying her right hand. "Let's get you cleaned up, so we can tell your mother our good news."

* * *

"Oh, Sean, that's fantastic!" Heather's mother exclaimed once he had announced his and Heather's engagement. "Do you have a ring?"

"Yes." He reached into his jacket's breast pocket and pulled out a karat diamond ring. Without ceremony, he slid it into Heather's finger. "There. Now we are officially engaged."

She stared down at the sparkling round diamond and said, "It's very pretty, Sean. Thank you."

He simply nodded.

"So, when's the date?" her mother asked. "The sooner the better I would think."

"Yes," agreed Sean. "Within the month for sure. I know doesn't turn eighteen for a few more months, but you can sign your consent."

Her mother gave her head a positive nod. "Of course. Oh, this is so exciting! I'm going to call Gina."

Sean's gaze landed on Heather. "And you should get some rest. You look tired."

"Yes, Sean," Heather obediently replied. "I'll see you later."

"Soon," he said. "I'll stop by this evening to check up on you."

"I'll be waiting."

He patted her on the rear as she turned to leave. "Good girl."

Heather walked into her room and sat down on the edge of her bed. The fog in her mind gradually started to lift and the weight of what just happened came barreling down on her. She had agreed to marry Sean, and once that happened, she would be his forever.

The hopelessness of the situation suddenly consumed Heather. This was it. Her life was over. She wasn't strong enough to endure any more abuse, nor was she strong enough to stop it. Or was she?

She just had one loose end to tie up first. She picked Michael's quilt up from the floor and folded it into a neat square. She then opened one of her spiral notebooks and ripped out a sheet of paper. On it she wrote:

 _Thank you. It just wasn't enough. Heather._

After folding the paper in half, she tucked it inside the quilt and grabbed her purse. She quietly opened her bedroom door. She could still hear her mother talking on the phone in her study, so she hurried to the kitchen. She stole a steak knife from the silverware drawer and slipped it into her purse.

Heather snuck out of her house through the kitchen slider. From there she zig-zagged between houses until she reached one of Haddonfield's busier streets. Keeping a fast pace, she made her way to Lampkin Lane.

Heather did not linger at Michael's house. She left the quilt just inside his front door and continued on her way. Again, she weaved between houses. She didn't care that she was trespassing on other people's properties. She was now within a few blocks of Sean's house, and she couldn't risk him seeing her, not when she was so close to reaching her destination.

A few minutes later, Heather passed through Haddonfield Cemetery's wrought-iron gates. Although she hadn't recently visited the graveyard, she still remembered where to go. There were just some things one didn't forget.

Heather purposefully walked to a secluded area of the vast cemetery. Her father's large double-headstone was impossible to miss. She dropped to her knees and started speaking to it as though it was her father and not just a carved piece of stone. "Hi, Dad. I know it's been awhile, but I just had to come see you." Heather paused and then said, "Dad, I miss you so much. Nothing has been the same since you left. Mom hasn't been the same. So much has happened…" Her voice trailed off as she stared down at her engagement ring. She slowly slid it off her finger. Then, she unzipped her purse and exchanged the diamond for the steak knife. "She wishes it was me who had died, you know," she softly continued, "and honestly it would have been better if I had." Heather bared her wrist and steadily raised the knife. "I'm not afraid of death, Dad. Not anymore."

She touched the sharp blade to her skin and was about to slice it open when someone with a vice-like grip grabbed both her forearms and yanked them apart. The tip of the knife's blade still managed to cut her wrist, but the damage inflicted was minor compared to the intended outcome.

"No!" Heather screamed while she fought to keep the knife in her possession. "You don't understand! I want to die! Please, just let me go!"

Her desperate pleas fell on deaf ears as the person holding her arms applied just enough pressure to her right wrist to make Heather drop the knife. "No!" she cried again, still trying to get to it. That was her only hope to true freedom.

The person behind her tightened his grip, making it impossible for the teenager to move. Furious, she turned her head to find out who had ahold of her only to come face to face with the Boogeyman himself.

Heather blinked, stunned. But then the unfairness of the entire situation hit her, causing her anger to resurface with a vengeance. "Dammit, Michael," she fumed. "You offer death to everyone else. Why not me?"

He didn't provide her with an answer. He just continued to stare at her with his black fathomless eyes.

"You don't understand," Heather told him, now on the verge of tears. "This is my only way out. I have nowhere else to go."

Michael suddenly turned her around so that they were kneeling before one another. Realizing what he wanted, Heather bowed her head. She was purely ashamed of the previous night's events and of the fact she had surrendered so easily to Sean. "You don't want me," she finally muttered. " _I_ don't even want me. Just let me go. Please."

Michael didn't listen to her. Instead, he pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms securely around her.

Heather crumpled against him as exhaustion and grief overcame her. Crying, she buried her face into his clothes. "I s-still think you're m-making a big m-mistake," she sobbed.

Michael raised a hand and lightly petted the back of her head.

The soothing motion of his hand gently touching her scalp, along with severe sleep deprivation from the night before, put Heather into a very deep sleep.

* * *

Some time later Heather groggily awoke to a pair of strong hands jostling her shoulders. "Okay, okay, I'm awake," she drowsily insisted. She slowly sat up and began to realize that she had been sleeping in the backseat of a car. She quickly became disoriented. As she tried to gather her rampant thoughts, someone's warm breath on her cheek caught her attention.

Heather's first instinct was to call out for Sean, but she didn't recognize the inside of the car as his. She hastily turned her head and found herself staring directly into two dark eyeholes of a stark-white mask. "Michael…?" she asked.

He backed away from her slightly and briefly nodded.

The teenager scanned her surroundings, getting more confused and anxious by the moment. When she started to tremble, Michael promptly covered her shoulders with the same quilt she had taken from his house the day before. That only added to her distress. "Michael, what am I doing here?" she shakily demanded. "Where are we?"

The killer helped her out of his car. As her head started to spin, she instinctively reached for him. He immediately hoisted her up into his arms and carried her up to an old farmhouse.

Michael strode up to the front door and to Heather's sheer surprise, pressed the doorbell. Wherever they were, he was obviously on good terms with the farmhouse's occupants.

Only a few moments had passed when the door gradually opened. "Michael?" a gray-haired woman voiced. "What on earth are you doing here?" The woman's shifty hazel eyes instantly landed on Heather. "Not one of your victims, I presume?"

The Boogeyman gave his head a negative shake.

The woman looked Heather over and said, "She's in shock. Put her on the couch in the family room. I'll join you shortly." Michael started to enter the house when the woman added, "And keep her warm."

He offered her an abrupt nod as he walked through the spacious living room.

Heather stayed quiet as Michael got her settled in the family room. She was still shaking, so he threw a few logs on the hearth and started a fire. She rested her chin on the arm of the couch and watched the flames dance in the fireplace. She let them lure her mind away from the farmhouse and back to the previous day's events. She remembered returning to Sean's house that evening and being punished for leaving. Then, he had tied her to his bed, but then what? Her memory remained a blank slate. However, one thought kept repeating itself over and over again. "I shouldn't have gone back."

She didn't realize she had voiced her epiphany aloud until she received a response. "Back to where, child?"

It was a woman's voice which spoke to her, but it seemed so distant, almost as though the flames themselves were speaking to her. Maybe they were. Heather decided to indulge them."To my boyfriend's house. He was very angry with me."

"What did he do to you?"

Heather stared into the flames, still looking for answers. When nothing came to her, she shook her head in defeat and said, "I don't remember."

"It's all right, child. I want you to rest now. Michael will stay with you."

Michael.

Suddenly, the fire released its mesmerizing hold on Heather, and the farmhouse's family room came back into focus. Once she got her bearings, she scanned the dimly lit from for the Boogeyman. She found him standing against the opposite wall. His eyes were fixated on her, but the tension in his stance did not go unnoticed. She could only think of one thing to say to him and that was a quiet, "I'm sorry."

The woman looked between Heather and Michael, her gaze finally settling on the latter. "She needs sleep. I'll check on her wrist again once she awakens."

Heather instinctively glanced down at her hands. Her eyes widened upon seeing her left wrist covered with gauze. How on earth could she have hurt it so badly and not have known about it? She lifted her gray orbs to Michael. "Where did you find me?" she asked.

He moved away from the wall and crouched down next to her. He pressed a palm to her cheek and lightly traced the seam of her lips with his thumb. While gazing into his eyes, Heather drew its tip into her mouth. As she suckled it, something deep within her stirred. She shifted underneath the quilt, attempting to soothe the tingling sensation in her loins. She had never felt such desire before, not even in her most heated moments with Sean. "I want you, Michael," she murmured. "So much."

He withdrew his thumb and then eased Heather onto the floor. After opening the quilt, he slid his hands up her flannel shirt. Her breathing deepened when his fingers gently kneaded her breasts. She shifted her hips so that their crotches touched. Michael looked at her. She caught an amused glint in his black eyes, no doubt caused by her impatience.

"I need to feel you, again," she told him. "Please?"

He nodded, yet his body remained stationary. As she was trying to figure out what he wanted, he removed a hand from her blouse. He then grabbed her right hand and guided it up to the front of his coveralls.

"Oh," she muttered, blushing. In all her times being with Sean, he had never relinquished his role as the aggressor, which included the privilege of undressing him. "Are you sure about this?" she asked Michael.

He gave her a firm nod.

Upon receiving his consent, Heather took ahold of the brass slide. She dragged it down his chest to his stomach. She paused for just a moment before tugging it past his hips. Her fingers grazed his hard cock in the process. She heard his breath hitch slightly.

The killer's involuntary response encouraged Heather to go even farther. She wrapped her fingers around his erection. Then, she began pumping her fist up and down his thick shaft.

Meanwhile, Michael's fingers deftly undid her jeans. He shoved them down to her knees, tugged her panties to the side, and jammed two fingers straight into her wet pussy. Heather gasped at the sudden intrusion, but all it did was heighten her desire for the killer.

He waited for her to orgasm and then gradually eased his cock into her, dramatically changing the mood. Once their intimate connection was completely forged, Michael moved within her at a methodical pace.

Heather quietly whimpered as an electric energy started to surge within her. She never felt anything like it, not even during their first time together. Every single nerve ending in her body felt like it was sizzling.

As the killer neared his own climax, the burning sensation became so intense that Heather literally believed she was going to burst into flames. "Michael!" she gasped in a desperate attempt to make him stop. "Michael, I can't -"

He promptly cupped a hand over her mouth to muffle the scream that ensued as they both came. And then it was over.

Michael lowered his hand, but he stayed joined to Heather while she recovered from their tryst.

"What the Hell did you just do to me?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

The Boogeyman just stared at her.

Heather sighed softly. "Well, whatever you did, it was electrifying."

Michael responded by gently brushing a few strands of hair away from her eyes. In doing so, his fingers discovered a puckered scar that had nothing to do with Sean. He cocked his head quizzically.

"I was in a bad car accident a few years ago," Heather explained. "My dad was killed, but I woke up two weeks later with no memory of it."

Michael's eyes widened as though something had resonated with him, but Heather knew asking him about it was pointless. He was notorious for being Haddonfield's silent killer, and so far he was living up to his infamous reputation.

Heather yawned. She was suddenly feeling very sleepy. Michael quickly dislodged himself from her. He made them both decent again and then lifted the teenager back onto the couch. He laid his quilt on top of her. She curled up into it and breathed in his masculine scent. "I like your quilt, Michael," she groggily murmured. "It smells like you."

He affectionately patted her knee.

Smiling, Heather's eyelids fluttered shut as the wings of sleep carried her away.


	4. March 29, 2010

**ONE DAY LATER**

 **Pebble Creek, Illinois (15 miles Northeast of Haddonfield)**

 **March 29, 2010**

Heather woke up the next morning feeling completely rejuvenated. At first she thought it was because she was finally away from Sean, but a moment later her eyes landed on the true culprit. "You helped heal me," she claimed, meeting Michael's eyes. "That's why last night felt so different."

He blinked slowly, mutely telling her that he was indeed was the one responsible for her remarkable recovery.

"Well, thank you," Heather said. "It's been awhile since I've felt this good."

Michael's expression visibly changed as he studied her. Concerned, she asked, "Is something wrong?"

To her surprise, the killer didn't respond.

Heather was about to question him further when she heard footsteps out in the hallway. "Oh, your friend must be awake."

Sure enough, it wasn't long before the gray-haired woman walked into the family room. As soon as she saw Heather, she said, "You're looking much better today, child."

The teenager nodded. "I'm feeling much better, too."

The woman instantly turned a hard gaze onto Michael. "Yes, amazing how that works," she replied, deadpan.

The atmosphere in the room instantly became tense, so Heather hastily excused herself to freshen up. Neither adult stopped her.

On her hunt to find the bathroom, Heather heard the woman say, "Michael, that girl has obviously been through a lot. Please be careful with her."

The last person who had shown genuine concern over Heather's well-being had been her father. She wasn't sure how influential the woman would be in regards to Michael. However, just knowing she had an ally comforted the teenager.

After using the facilities, Heather wandered into the kitchen where the woman was busy preparing breakfast. Michael was sitting at the table, simply watching.

"Do you want some help?" asked Heather.

"If you're offering, sure," the woman replied. "The eggs are in the fridge."

The younger opened the refrigerator and then tossed Michael a backwards glance. "Will you be eating with us?"

He gave his head a negative shake.

She turned to the woman next.

"Two eggs for me, child, and whatever you want. I like mine scrambled."

Nodding, Heather grabbed five eggs. She cracked them into a bowl and then started whisking them.

"So, what's your name, child?" the woman asked.

"It's Heather Veers," the teenager answered while pouring the scrambled yolks into a frying pan.

"I'm Samantha Myers," the woman said. She tended to the hash browns on the burner next to Heather.

"Myers?" Heather raised her eyebrows at Michael. "I thought most of your relatives ended up dead."

" _Blood_ relatives," Samantha corrected. "I am his aunt by marriage only. I was married to his father's brother."

"Oh." Heather didn't know what else to say. She found it fascinating that Michael Myers, who was a cold-blooded killer, chose to stay in contact with his aunt and that his aunt had been willing to leave that line of communication open with him. Maybe he wasn't as purely evil as everyone assumed.

The teenager finished cooking the eggs and then plated them.

"Thank you, Heather," Samantha said, adding the potatoes and toast.

The younger blinked, shocked by the usage of her given name.

Samantha frowned. "Is something wrong?"

Heather quickly shook her

head. "No, it's just people rarely call me by my name."

The woman's scowl deepened. "What on earth do they call you then?"

"Usually just girl."

"That's terrible."

Heather shrugged. "I'm used to it." She followed Samantha to the table and sat down across from the Boogeyman.

His onyx orbs closely observed her while she ate. She met his unwavering gaze a few times, wondering the direction of his thoughts.

After breakfast, the trio moved back into the family room. Michael gave Heather a long look. Then, he reached into his breast pocket and produced a diamond ring. She stared at it, her mind racing. Finally, she said, "I'm flattered, Michael, but I've only known you a couple of days."

He glowered at her, which caused Samantha to intervene.

"He found it in your purse, Heather."

The teenager instantly shook her head. "It isn't mine," she sternly refuted.

"Heather…"

"No, I would never have agreed to marry him. _Ever_ ," she adamantly stated. "He _knows_ that. I would have killed myself before-" She suddenly stopped speaking and looked down at her left wrist. "Oh my god," she breathed. She lifted her head, her eyes meeting Michael's as the memory of them in the cemetery resurfaced. "You saved my life."

He slowly nodded.

"I remember now," she muttered.

Samantha took a small step forward. "Heather, what did he do-"

She gave her head another shake as the shadows of three men formed in her mind. "No, I'm sorry. Here." She offered the engagement ring back to the killer. "Take it, Michael. Please," she begged.

He snatched the diamond from Heather's fingers and returned it to his pocket. Samantha then guided Heather to the couch while Michael strode out of the room.

The younger released a heavy sigh. "I bet he's regretting it."

Samantha sat down next to the teenager. "Regretting what, Heather?"

"Saving my life," she flatly answered. She lightly touched the gauze covering the cut on the inside of her wrist. "I wonder why he stopped me."

"He must have his reasons," said Samantha.

"That's what concerns me," Heather confessed. She dropped her forehead into her hands and stared down at the floor. "It would have been easier on everyone if he would have just let me go through with it."

The older woman gently patted the teenager's back but immediately stopped when her fingers discovered one of the many welts covering Heather's skin. Without warning, Samantha shoved the back of the girl's shirt up to her shoulder blades. "What in God's name did he do to you?!" the former screeched. "Beat you with a whip?"

"A flogger," Heather murmured.

Samantha lightly traced one of the older scars. "He's done this to you before."

While keeping her eyes on the almond colored carpet, Heather affirmatively nodded.

"Michael, have you seen these?"

The blonde girl's head instantly shot up. The Boogeyman had reentered the room and was now examining her back alongside Samantha.

"They don't hurt anymore," Heather said, embarrassed by all the attention she was receiving.

Samantha eyed her nephew. "I'm sure of that," she replied, "but they should still be dressed properly. I'll be right back."

To Heather's dismay, the two adults traded places. She couldn't bear to look at the killer so she went back to staring a hole into the floor.

How could Heather explain the type of relationship she had with Sean to anybody, much less to Michael? She doubted he would ever understand her reasoning for signing Sean's contract in the first place. All Heather had ever wanted was her mother's love. Nothing else mattered.

Now, after suffering through two years of abuse, there was no denying that her mother's love had died with her father. It was a lesson most definitely learned the hard way.

"I am such a fool," Heather uttered. She didn't even bother looking at Michael for his response, for she knew she spoke the truth.

He finally got her attention by gripping her chin and forcing her to face him.

"I don't want to talk about it," she stubbornly told him. "Whatever I say is not going to make any logical sense to you, anyway."

Michael appeared affronted by her accusation, but she was past the point of caring. She jerked her head away from his hand and turned to face the unlit fireplace.

"Let her be, Michael," Samantha warned as she walked into the room. She gave him a medical kit and then sat down in a recliner.

As the killer meticulously tended to her wounds, Heather slowly began to relax. She didn't really know the full extent of her injuries, but from how much ointment he was using, she assumed they were pretty bad.

Once he finished applying the medicine, Michael covered her back with gauze to protect the welts from infection. He then lowered her shirt and moved to stand.

"Michael, wait," Heather said. She was beginning to feel guilty for pushing him away earlier when it was obvious he was just trying to help.

He sat back down on the cushion and looked at her expectantly.

Heather nervously ran a hand through her blondish locks before saying, "I was fifteen when my mom set me up with _him_. I didn't know what to expect. I was scared and confused, but he said sleeping with him would make her proud, so I went through with it. At the time, I was so desperate for her approval, I would have done anything to make her proud of me."

Michael's eyes narrowed just as Samantha asked, "Heather, what more did you do?"

The teenager continued her tale before she completely lost her nerve. "He had written a contract and given it to my mom to sign. They wouldn't let me read it, but-"

"They coerced you into signing it," the woman finished.

The younger shook her head. "They never threatened me-"

"Heather," Samantha firmly interrupted, "you were a fifteen-year-old child up against your mother and a man she chose for you. Their mere presence forced you into signing that contract."

The teenager sighed. "I just wanted things to go back to how they were before my dad died, but now I know that was never going to happen. My mom's just too angry. And now I'm engaged to a man I hate more than anyone, except for maybe her."

"Heather, exactly how did he get you to say yes to a marriage proposal?" Samantha asked in earnest.

Heather decided it was finally time to tell them. "Saturday afternoon he and I got into a heated argument during which he lost his temper and punched me. Well, it was raining, and I knew I wouldn't be able to walk all the way home, so I stopped by Michael's house, because I thought it would be vacant."

"Wait, you two just met a couple of days ago?"

Heather nodded.

Samantha briefly looked at Michael. "Interesting. Go on."

"Okay, so after we met, I went home. That's when my mom convinced me to go back to _his_ house. He punished me for leaving, and then he tied me to his bed to make sure it wouldn't happen again. He left me alone while he called three of his friends. They came over and…well...there was nothing I could do to stop them," Heather quietly finished.

"Oh. My. God," Samantha breathed.

Meanwhile, Michael abruptly rose to his feet and promptly disappeared from the room.

"I'm sure he just went somewhere to let off some steam," Samantha hastily said to explain her nephew's sudden departure. "I bet he'll return by nightfall."

Heather scoffed. "Really, because if I was him, I'd be heading back to Haddonfield and finding another girl to screw. I'm not worth all this trouble." She stood from the couch and swiftly passed through the doorway.

Samantha quickly pursued her. "Heather, wait. Where are you going? You can't just leave."

The teenager continued moving towards the front window. When she reached it, she yanked the curtain open. "His car is gone, Samantha," she tersely informed the woman. "He isn't coming back."

"Heather, please don't leave," Samantha begged while the younger made her way over to the door. "Where will you go? What will you do?"

"I don't know, but men obviously enjoy fucking me," Heather angrily stated. "I might as well start getting paid for it."

Samantha placed a hand on the door just as the girl started opening it. "All right, Heather, listen to me. If Michael isn't back by morning, I will let you leave to do anything you want. Just stay the night. Please?"

Sighing deeply, Heather closed the front door. "Fine, I'll stay until dawn, but then I'm gone. I'm not about to be a burden to anyone."

"A burden?" Samantha repeated. "Heather, no, trust me, you are not a burden. I'm glad Michael brought you here. You've been through so much."

"It's nothing that I don't deserve," Heather sternly answered. "Despite what you believe, I did this to myself. Michael should have just left me to rot." With that, she turned on her heels and stormed back to the family room before Samantha could see the tears that followed.

Heather sank down onto the couch and hugged Michael's quilt close to her body. Soon, her hard sobs turned into gentle snores as sleep claimed her emotionally drained body.

* * *

"Oh, thank God, you're back!"

Samantha's cry of relief found its way into Heather's eardrums, waking her. She laid on the couch huddled in the Boogeyman's quilt while Samantha's hushed voice spoke to him out in the hallway. The teenager heard her name mentioned a couple of times, so she figured the woman was recapping their most recent exchange.

Heather sat up when Michael's distinct footsteps approached the doorway. He was alone, and that made her nervous. She clutched the underside of the quilt covering her legs while he turned on a lamp. To her surprise, he appeared almost worried as he studied her tear-stained face.

"What do you want from me, Michael?" Heather asked, her temper rising, again. "Why do you give a damn what happens to me when no one else does? There _has_ to be a reason for it."

His gaze instantly hardened, but then he relented, sighing softly underneath his mask.

"Michael, if you would just let me go-"

He soundly shook his head.

Heather brows furrowed. "Why not? Then, I'd be out your hair, and you could go about doing whatever it is you do without having to worry about me."

The Boogeyman eyes searched hers for a long moment, and Heather got the distinct feeling like she was missing an important piece of the puzzle.

"What is it?" she insisted. "What are you hiding from me?"

He briefly looked torn. However, he settled for reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded up newspaper.

"What's this?" she asked as he handed it to her. Right on the front page printed in big bold letters was the word 'missing' with her most recent school portrait pictured just below it. She quickly read the article. It failed to mention her new engagement; however, it did inform the public that a steak knife had been taken from the house. The phrases 'possibly mentally unstable' and 'is armed and could be dangerous' caught her eye. However, despite the warnings from the police, her mother was still offering a one-hundred-thousand dollar reward for the teenager's safe return.

Michael sat down next to Heather and pointed to the dollar amount, his head tilted to one side.

"That's most likely my inheritance," Heather evenly told him. "But I don't get it. If I mean so little to her, then why did she set the reward so high?"

Michael gave his head a small shake and lightly touched the girl's left hand's ring finger.

"Oh, of course," she agreed. "That makes more sense. I am, after all, his fiancé."

The Boogeyman's onyx orbs instantly glinted with contempt.

"I know, Michael," Heather empathized, " but if it's any consolation, I'd prefer to be engaged to you. At least you have shown that you value my life, though I am still at a loss as to why."

The killer's expression changed slightly, though the intensity in his gaze did not. He reached out and cupped Heather's face in his hands. Then, he leaned forward and pressed his masked lips firmly against hers.

Although his mouth was covered, Michael's kiss felt very intimate and sensual. Heather had never experienced anything like it before, and it sent tingles of pleasure down her spine.

As they continued to kiss, the Boogeyman parted his real lips, allowing the heat of his breath to pass through the latex barrier and enter Heather's mouth. It quickly reminded her that there was a live human face hidden underneath the white Halloween mask-one that she hoped to one day see.

Eventually, Michael lifted his lips from Heather's and released her face. He then sat back against the couch with his arm loosely draped over her shoulders.

Heather nervously bit down on her lower lip. "Michael, may I ask you a very personal question?"

He looked at her and gradually nodded.

"Am I the only girl you've ever slept with?"

Michael hesitated but then shook his head.

His admission did not surprise Heather. In fact, she would have been more shocked if he had turned out to still be a virgin at his age. "Okay, so what happened to the other girls?" she asked. "Are they still alive?"

The Boogeyman gave his head another negative shake.

"The first time we met, I know you were intending to kill me, too," Heather said with conviction.

He quickly confirmed her statement.

"But after we fucked, something happened to change that. What was it?"

Michael cocked his head at her.

"No, I'm not expecting an answer," she told him. "I'm just thinking out loud."

The killer suddenly removed his arm from Heather's shoulders and stood up, wordlessly ending their discussion. After picking up his quilt, he reached for her hand. With a quiet sigh of resignation, she let him lead her out of the family room.

Michael proceeded to guide the teenager upstairs to the guest room at the end of the hall. He spread his quilt out on the queen-sized bed and looked at her expectantly.

"Okay, so I'm assuming we'll be sharing a room?" she asked.

Nodding, he gestured to the bed.

"You know, I'm not sure if I'm in the mood to be ravished by you tonight," she confessed.

Michael instantly shook his head.

"Thanks," she said, relieved. She crawled underneath the quilt and waited for him to join her. He stretched out next to her on the mattress; however, she lacked the courage to cuddle up into him. Instead, she stayed on her back. "Good night, Michael," she said while staring up into the darkness.

He tenderly patted her hand but didn't take things any farther than that.

Heather closed her eyes as she thought back to their previous conversations. Although Michael hadn't spoken a word to her, he had given her a lot to mull over. There was no doubt in her mind that he was hiding a secret from her. Whatever it was, it made her unique from every other girl he had fucked in the past-so unique that it had saved her life-twice.

Heather suspected the secret would be revealed to her in due time, so she decided it would be in her best interest just to wait patiently for that day to come.

Little did she know what was in store for her.


	5. May 9, 2010

**First, Thank you to all who have taken an interest in this story. As some know, it is not usual for me to go through my stories and edit varies sections. However, I usually leave the chapters intact. As this particular story is unfolding, I decided to go in a slightly different direction than I originally planned. Since I rewrote a majority of this chapter, I decided to delete it and repost it. Some dialogue has been changed, and I added more smut-just to warn you. Anyway, I am really happy with the finished product, and I hope you are, too. As always, happy reading.**

* * *

 **SIX WEEKS LATER**

 **Pebble Creek, Illinois**

 **May 9, 2010**

"Oh, Heather, that smells delicious," Samantha said as the teenager placed the peach pie on the stovetop to cool.

Heather laughed. "It should. It's _your_ recipe, Samantha." She examined the golden pie crust. "Not bad for my first attempt, though, is it?"

"Definitely not," the woman agreed. "I can't wait to taste it. It's a shame, though, that Michael won't eat it. He doesn't know what he's missing."

Heather gazed out the kitchen window at the fields and woods surrounding Samantha's charming farmhouse. The Boogeyman was somewhere in them hunting for his dinner.

"Michael's been spending more and more time away from me," the teenager grimly stated, "especially over the last couple of weeks."

"Yes, I have noticed that as well," Samantha replied.

Heather turned to face the killer's aunt and voiced her greatest fear. "You don't think he's found someone else, do you."

While shaking her head, Samantha sat down at the kitchen table. "No, if Michael had moved on from you, Heather, you'd already be dead."

The teenager sighed as she joined Samantha. "I just wish he wouldn't go out so much," she said. "I'm really beginning to miss his company."

The woman's hazel eyes instantly narrowed. "Careful, Heather," she warned. "It you let yourself become emotionally attached to my nephew, he will only end up breaking your heart, for his heart cannot be touched."

"I'll keep that in mind," Heather said.

Samantha gave her head a sharp nod. "Good."

The teenager sat forward in her seat. "I suppose that's why Michael killed all his former fuckmates."

Samantha's chuckled darkly. "Yes. He doesn't seek women for companionship, Heather. Instead, he methodically searches for women who he deems worthy of receiving his very temporary affections. Once he finds such a woman, he will stalk her for weeks before finally breaking into her house. He'll then spend the entire night with her, but, unfortunately, he doesn't let her live much past sunrise. That's just how Michael works. He's a killer by nature, but even he gets male urges that need to be satisfied with more than just his hand."

Heather blushed at the thought of Michael masterbating. Samantha simply smirked and continued talking.

"That's why I was so surprised to learn that Michael had slept with you within minutes of first meeting you, and in his own house no less. Then to let you live on top of it? No, he was definitely not acting like his usual self, Heather. Something happened between you and him-something he hadn't been expecting."

"I know," the teenager said, "but what?"

The woman shrugged. "I have absolutely no idea. I really don't. I'm at a loss just like you are."

Heather glanced down at the tabletop. When she raised her eyes, she asked, "So, how do you know so much about Michael's sexual prowess, anyway?"

Samantha leaned back in her chair and said, "Quite a few years ago I lived in the city, and he started stalking one of my neighbors. I learned a lot about my nephew during those few weeks. He really is the Boogeyman, Heather."

" _That_ I believe," the teenager firmly stated.

The sound of heavy footfalls in the hallway alerted the two females of Michael's presence in the house. They paused just outside the kitchen but then quietly retreated to the stairway.

Tears instantly welled up in Heather's eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks . "See what I mean?" she mournfully asked. "I didn't even get to show him the pie I made."

Frowning, Samantha stared at the blonde girl. "Seriously, Heather, get ahold of yourself," she said, her tone stern. "That is nothing to cry over."

"I can't help it," the younger insisted cleaned her face with a napkin. "I think I'm PMSing. I usually get really emotional right before my period, plus I've been feeling kind of crampy and achy this past week, too."

Samantha's hazel eyes suddenly narrowed. "Heather, just out of curiosity, when exactly was your last period."

The teenager shrugged. "I don't know. A few months ago, I guess. I'm on birth control, so I only get my period two or three times a year."

"I see. And what method do you use?"

Heather's brows furrowed. "I get a shot. Why?"

Samantha pursed her lips together and said, "Because sometimes birth control is not one hundred percent effective. Sometimes things happen that are out of our control."

Heather felt the color drain from her face. "No. I've been taking the shot for almost two years now, and it's been working just fine."

The older woman studied the teenager for a long moment. "Yes, but that was before you had sex with Michael. If you were ovulating during your first time with him, then there's a really good chance he impregnated you. That would explain why he didn't kill you afterwards and why he is so adamant about preserving your life now."

Heather lightly scoffed. "Even if what you say is true, it still would have taken time for Michael's sperm to reach my egg. There's no way he would have known I was pregnant that fast. It's just not humanly possible."

Samantha shook her head. "Heather, we have already established that Michael Myers is not a normal man. Since his body is able to heal from gunshot wounds in a blink of an eye, then I am left to assume he could procreate just as quickly. And the moment it happened, I guarantee he would have become aware of it."

"Oh my god," Heather muttered. "It all makes sense now. Everything he has done for me has only been for the sake of the baby."

"Yes," Samantha sharply confirmed. "Michael's not stupid, Heather. He knew if he didn't treat you well at first, you would have continued on your mental downward spiral. He couldn't risk that, so he did everything in his power to earn your trust and build up your self-worth.

"Now that the act of suicide is no longer a threat to your livelihood, Michael is starting to reinstate his Boogeyman persona by gradually distancing himself from you. At some point any feelings he has developed for you will all be forgotten, and he will recognize you as nothing more than the vessel that is carrying his heir. Be warned, Heather. Once you fulfill his purpose, he _will_ kill you."

Heather stared at Samantha while she digested the woman's words. "No," the younger said at last. "I will not let him raise our baby without me. There must be something I can do to prove my value to him."

Samantha soundly shook her head. "Although I admire your tenacity, Heather, there is nothing you can do. Your fate has already been decided."

The teenager understood the woman's pessimism; however she could not accept it. The way she saw it, she had just over seven months to make the Boogeyman realize her worth. "Well, I'm not just going to sit around here waiting to die," she told Samantha. "I know it's early, but I want to start preparing for the baby."

The woman nodded. "Well, I don't know where Michael intends to raise his child, but there's a small room upstairs that could be turned into a nursery. Even if he chooses to leave, I can covert it back into a storage room easily enough."

 _His_ child.

Heather's finger grazed her flat tummy. _No,_ our _child,_ she mentally corrected. The baby was both hers and Michael's.

"Well...?" Samantha prompted.

"Yes, I'd like that," Heather finally replied.

"Good. You can start cleaning the room tomorrow," said Samantha. "As for right now, let's get some dinner started so you can feed that little baby of his."

Although the teenager agreed that the baby needed nourishment, she suspected Samantha was just trying to distract her from seeing Michael. After dinner, however, Heather planned to have a word with him whether his dear aunt approved of it or not.

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair. Neither Heather nor Samantha bothered making any small talk. They were each completely content keeping their thoughts to themselves.

After they finished eating, the teenager helped clean up the kitchen and then excused herself to go upstairs. With a lot weighing on her mind, she treaded to the bedroom she shared with Michael. The door was closed, so she lightly rapped on it, announcing her arrival.

The killer, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, looked up when she crossed the threshold. She closed the door and sat down next to him. The hand resting between them twitched slightly as though it wanted to reach out and strangle her.

"You'll have to wait about seven more months before you can do anything about that," Heather drolly stated.

The Boogeyman cocked his head at her, appearing genuinely confused.

"I know I'm pregnant, Michael," she bluntly told him.

He instantly pinned her under one of his intense stares.

Suddenly feeling anxious, Heather wetted her lips before saying, "I understand that my spontaneous pregnancy is what put your plan to kill me on hold. I just want you to know that despite everything, I am not going anywhere."

The killer dug into his breast pocket and pulled out Heather's engagement ring. She suddenly realized what he was silently asking.

"I will never going back to _him_ , Michael. _Ever_ ," she spat. "I _hate_ him. There is absolutely no justifiable explanation for anything he's done to me. You, on the other hand, are the Boogeyman, so I can't hold you to the same standards as other men, if that makes any sense."

Michael slowly nodded.

"Besides, there's no way I could return to _him_ in my condition," Heather continued. "I don't even want to imagine what he would do to me or our baby."

The Boogeyman's black orbs dropped to her belly.

She followed his gaze and quietly asked, "Michael, did you intentionally get me pregnant?"

He lifted his head and deliberately shook it.

Heather's heart sank. No, of course he hadn't gotten her pregnant on purpose. Why would he chose to have a baby with someone like her?

"I'm sorry, Michael," she muttered. "I swear I really was on birth control at the time we conceived. Obviously, it just wasn't enough."

Michael continued to stare at her, the expression in his dark eyes impossible to read.

"Well, I'm really tired," Heather said at last. "I think I'm going to turn in for the night."

She was about to move further up the bed when Michael's hand suddenly latched itself onto her arm. "What?" she asked, startled.

His gaze dropped to her crotch and then traveled back up to her face.

Heather's heartbeat quickened. "Oh, is that what you wanted before?"

He firmly nodded.

"I'm so sorry," she sincerely apologized. "I thought you were itching to kill me."

Michael's eyes narrowed slightly, and he gave his head a small shake.

His reaction gave Heather a glimmer of hope. Perhaps her situation was not quite as dire as Samantha had led her to believe. Yet, the teenager still approached the situation with caution.

"Are you sure about doing this?" she asked, her voice trembling from both nerves and desire. "I don't want you doing anything you're going to regret later."

Michael scoffed from behind his mask. Then, he removed his hand from her arm and boldly cupped her right breast. He teased her nipple through her shirt and bra until it became taut and tender under his fingertips.

"Okay, I get it," Heather smirked as she attempted to push Michael's hand away from her sore nipple. In response, he latched on even tighter. She squealed in pain, though her pussy tingled with lustful desire.

While his fingers moved on to Heather's left nipple, the killer maneuvered his other hand between her thighs. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her clit through her jeans and panties, creating a noticeable wet spot on the latter.

Heather yearned for release. However, he denied her the orgasm she so desperately craved by withdrawing his hands from her body and rising to his feet. He stood before her and simply observed her quivering and flushed form.

Although she was still fully clothed, Heather felt completely exposed. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as Michael continued to stare at her-no, _into_ her-as though he was looking straight into her soul.

Heather had no idea for what he was searching, but the outline of the killer's large cock became much more noticeable as it pushed against the confines of his uniform. Her pussy throbbed in response. She shifted uncomfortably, wanting him - _needing_ him - to ease the ache.

After another minute passed, Michael blinked, finally breaking the spell. His hand immediately went to his zipper. He quickly dragged the slider down to the stop. In the process, he freed his long thick cock, which was at face level for Heather.

A drop of precum on its tip beckoned to her. She patiently waited for Michael to start kicking off his boots. Once he was distracted by that, she rapidly flicked her tongue out to catch the creamy morsel before it landed on the floor.

The killer flinched, and Heather knew she had caught him off guard. His dark eyes immediately locked onto hers. She sheepishly grinned and said, "Well, I couldn't very well let it go to waste."

Michael deliberately shook his head and took a step closer to her. Heather's heart skipped a beat. This was a first. He had never given her permission to taste him before.

She eagerly extended her hand and began stroking Michael's cock with brazen fingers. When his erection twitched in her hand, Heather guided its head to the seam of lips. She gently moistened it with her tongue and then lightly blew on it.

Heather felt a shiver pass through the killer's body. Emboldened by his involuntary response, she gradually drew his cock into her mouth, enveloping it with warmth and wetness. A low groan escaped his masked lips as she started bobbing her head. Each time she took his shaft further and further down her throat until she reached her absolute limit. She looked up at Michael, wordlessly requesting him not to push her any more than that.

He gave his head a very subtle nod. Then, he grabbed her scalp and started fucking her mouth and throat with vigorous thrusts.

If there was one thing Sean had taught Heather to do well, it was how to give a man a proper blow job. Now it was Michael who was reaping the rewards of her extensive tutoring.

The killer grunted again, and Heather knew he was getting close to climaxing. She sucked him hard. His cock simultaneously spasmed deep in her throat, sending a load of cum straight to her stomach. She had never tasted anything so satisfying in her life.

Michael's cock was still semi-erect when he eased it from Heather's mouth. She wiped both saliva and cum from her lips and chin with the back of her hand while he unbuttoned her jeans.

Heather's scent wafted up from her pussy, filling the small space between her and Michael. She heard him inhale a sharp breath. His cock instantly swelled, almost to the point where it looked painful.

The killer quickly unclothed Heather from the waist down. He then slid a finger up between her slick lower lips. He briefly teased her clit before reaching for the hem of the blue argyle sweater, which Samantha had generously bought her. He impatiently tugged it over her head, completely disheveling Heather's long blondish locks in the process. She automatically moved to pat them down when he grabbed her hands and returned them to her sides. As he leaned in close to unhook her bra, she saw a tinge of amusement lurking in his onyx orbs.

The smirk on Heather's lips died the moment Michael's warm breath touched her bare shoulder. She shivered as he slid her bra straps down her arms. When her bra fell away, he lifted both his hands to her breasts. He pinched, twisted, and pulled on her sensitive nipples until she trembled in painful pleasure.

Once her orgasm passed, Michael pushed Heather backwards onto the mattress. He hungrily raked his eyes over her fully aroused naked body. Then, he pulled on her legs, sliding her bottom to the edge of the bed. He stood between her thighs and raised her leg over his arms. He stared down at her soaked lower lips, his obsidian eyes smoldering with heated desire.

"Michael, please..." Heather softly begged. "...just take me…"

Nodding once, he pressed the head of his erection against her soft folds. He watched her pussy open for him and stretch to accept his generous offering. Michael's eyes never strayed from Heather's lower region as he pumped his cock in and out of her wet hole.

As she matched his movements, the teenager boldly slid a hand over her clit and began rubbing it under the Boogeyman's watchful stare. "Michael, have you ever tasted a girl's pussy before?" she huskily asked.

His eyes immediately shot up to her face. He answered her personal inquiry by shaking his head, yet, at the same time, he appeared intrigued.

"If I swear not to look, will you do it to me, Michael? I want to feel your tongue inside of me."

It didn't take him long to consider her request. He knelt on the floor and repositioned her legs so that they draped over his shoulders. The instant he reached for the bottom of his mask, Heather let her eyelids fall closed. A moment later, his hot breath tickled her pussy.

"Oh fuck, Michael," she breathed. "I want this so badly."

He dipped the tip of his tongue between her wet lips, making her writhe with need. He teasingly circled her clit a few times before finally suckling down on it hard. Heather covered her mouth with her arm, trying to suppress her cries of ecstasy.

From her clit, Michael dragged his mouth downward to her pussy. He must have liked how it tasted because he quickly shoved the entire length of his tongue down into it and busily began lapping up her juices.

Meanwhile, his fingers started exploring her backside. Heather accidentally bit her arm when his forefinger discovered her sphincter. Before she could stop him, he gradually eased his digit into the tight hole and gently began fucking it.

The sensations Michael was creating in her were totally different than anything Heather had experienced with Sean. She came so hard that she actually squirted into the killer's mouth. He grunted softly, obviously enjoying the fruits of his labor.

After she climaxed, Michael lifted his mouth from her pussy and withdrew his finger from her anus only to replace it with cock. Heather moaned in pleasure as he slowly fed her the much longer and thicker appendage.

Once it was fully sheathed inside of her, the killer leaned forward. He lowered his mouth onto hers, allowing her to taste the sweet gift she had given him. Heather had tasted herself many times in the past; however, her juices tasted distinctly different on Michael's lips.

While she licked them clean, he started rocking against her. She playfully nipped at his lips, jawline, and chin as they fucked. He stopped her teasing by drawing her lower lip into her mouth and sucking on it.

Heather impulsively wrapped her arms around Michael's neck. What started as a simple game suddenly escalated into a very deep and passionate kiss. His entire body stiffened, yet he continued fucking and kissing her.

After a few minutes, Heather's back arched and her toes curled as an orgasm tore through her. Her climax trigger's Michael's. Shuddering, he groaned loudly in her mouth while he filled her bowels with his seed.

Heather was still trembling slightly when he dislodged himself from her. She heard him readjust his mask and then opened her eyes. "Wow, that was amazing," she breathlessly said. "I've never had sex like that before. You were incredible, Michael."

A shadow crossed his expression, which told Heather that something was troubling him. She studied the killer for a long moment, her eyes searching his. "I wish you spoke so I didn't have to guess your thoughts," she quietly voiced. Taking a shot in the dark, she asked, "Are you upset by something we did?"

The Boogeyman slowly shook his head. Then, he bent down and picked up his coveralls, along with Heather's undergarments, jeans, and sweater. He set the small pile of clothes next to her on the bed.

"Thank you," she said.

As the killer stepped into his uniform, Heather slipped into her panties. She then walked to the dresser where she pulled out a gray long sleeved t-shirt and black sweatpants. Michael watched her dress, his steady gaze never wavering from her.

"Do you really find me _that_ interesting?" the teenager asked in jest.

The killer remained motionless, the tension in his stance not going unnoticed. The grin quickly faded from Heather's face. Again, she wondered what was wrong.

She turned her back to him and reached for a hair tie from the top of the dresser. After she pulled her hair into a messy ponytail, Heather put on a pair of gray knitted slippers. Michael's gaze instantly hardened.

"I'm just going downstairs," she informed him. "Fucking made me hungry, and I have to pee."

The killer simply nodded, though his obsidian eyes lit up with a subtle trace humor. Suddenly, the teenager wanted nothing more than to kiss him. "I have to go," she muttered. She hastily fled the room before she stupidly acted on her feelings.

 _What is it about Michael that makes me want him so much?_ she wondered as she entered the bathroom.

Heather used the toilet and then walked to the sink. "In seven months he is going to kill you," she reminded her reflection while she lathered her her hands with berry soap. "You cannot fall in love with him."

She scoffed at her likeness but gradually started to realize that her feelings for the Boogeyman were far from neutral anymore. He had spent a good portion of the past month and a half manipulating her feelings for him in order to protect their child from harm. In doing so, he had managed to steal her heart.

"Oh god," she moaned as tears flooded her vision. She splashed some water of her face. However, that didn't help alleviate the innate sense of awareness that had settled into her soul.

Heather raised her head and once again stared into the mirror. How could she have fallen in love with someone who had never fully gained her trust? It seemed strange that any type of love could form under those circumstances, but Michael had obviously shown her enough kindness throughout the previous six weeks to break through her barriers of suspicion.

"Well, damn," Heather tersely spat. "Now what?"

Her image just gazed back at her through the looking-glass.

Shaking her head, the teenager left the bathroom. Even though she wasn't nearly as hungry as she was before her epiphany, she still journeyed to the kitchen. She served herself a piece of pie and decided to take it to the porch.

As she sat on the railing eating her dessert, Heather noticed a dark shadow of what appeared to be an animal hobbling along the edge of the driveway, heading toward the house. Curious, she set her plate and fork down and went to investigate.

The creature turned out to be a large black dog with white markings on its stop, sternum, chest, and paws. The moment it noticed Heather slowly approaching it, the canine hunched down and stared at her with a pair of icy blue eyes.

"Shhh, it's okay," said the teenager in a soothing tone. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want a look." She cautiously extended her hand, allowing the dog to sniff it. After a just a moment, it aggressively began linking her fingers. "Oh, you poor thing," she sympathized, "you must be hungry. Hang on, I have some food I can give you. Stay."

The dog obeyed while Heather retrieved her half-eaten piece of pie. "Here you go." She placed the dish on the ground and watched the animal devour the leftovers in one single bite.

Once it had licked the plate clean, the girl examined the tight-fitting heavy metal collar that the dog wore around its neck. Crudely etched into the metal was the word Millie.

"So, your name's Millie, huh?" Heather questioned the dog. The animal wagged its long slender tail in response.

"Well, Millie, let's see if we can get this collar off you." Heather tried to pry its latch open, but it was rusted shut. Realizing she wouldn't be able to open it herself, she commanded the dog to stay, again, and hurried back to the house.

Heather dashed into the foyer just as Michael was heading out, presumably on his way to search for her. He instantly caught her by the waist, his eyes giving her a quick once-over.

Heather couldn't help but be touched by his concern, even if it was just because of their baby, "I'm fine, Michael," she assured him, "but I do need your help with something. Will you come with me?"

When he slowly nodded, Heather grabbed his hand and practically dragged him out the door. "It's not far," she said as she led Michael down the driveway. "There. See her?"

He stopped dead in his tracks, yet that didn't deter Heather from approaching the dog. "Her collar is on too tight, and I can't get it off. I was thinking you could use your knife to-" She suddenly noticed pure disdain gleaming from within the Boogeyman's black orbs. "Michael…?"

He looked at her, albeit reluctantly.

"He hates dogs, Heather."

Samantha's stern voice speaking behind Michael startled the blonde girl.

"And I'm not fond of them either," the woman warned as she came to stand at her nephew's side.

Heather's heart sank while she looked between the two adults. Although she and Michael were staying at Samantha's house, she knew the killer would ultimately have the final word in the matter, so she appealed directly to him.

"Michael, all I'm asking is for you to remove the collar. It needs to come off. Please?"

She saw his jaw clench underneath his mask, yet he still took a small step forward.

"What the hell are you doing, Michael?" Samantha asked, aghast. "You're not actually going to help that creature."

Michael unsheathed his knife from his left side pocket and raised it to Millie's neck. Heather held her breath, not quite trusting his intentions.

The killer must have sensed her nervousness because he fixed his gaze onto her for a full minute. Then, he jammed the tip of his knife into the collar's rusted latch. The metal instantly opened under the pressure. It fell to the ground with a sound thud.

Once free, Millie ran in circles around the threesome, jumping and barking wildly. She somehow knew better than to leap up onto Michael and Samantha, but Millie showed no such restraint toward Heather. Finally, Michael shoved the canine away from the teenager and glowered at it.

"Aww, she wasn't hurting me," Heather told him. "She's just excited, that's all. Isn't that right, Millie?" she asked, affectionately petting the dog's smooth head. "You're just excited to be free, huh?"

Millie enthusiastically licked Heather's hand.

"I know," the girl empathized. "Some people can be so cruel."

Michael's body immediately turned rigid. Heather looked at him just as he stared down at her wrists. She knew he was remembering what Sean had done to her.

"Yeah, I can relate," Heather quietly voiced.

Michael released an audible sigh and pointed to Samantha's old barn.

Astounded, Heather blinked at him. "Really?" she breathed. "I can keep her?"

Although he still didn't appear too pleased by the situation, the killer gave his head a short nod.

Heather beamed at him, but the livid expression on Samantha's face immediately wiped the large smile from the younger's lips. She had seen that same look many times in the past, and it never boded well for her.

Michael, however, crossed his arms over his chest, almost as if daring his aunt to defy him.

"All right, fine," the woman tersely relented, addressing only him. "If you really want the dog to stay here, then I will allow it. However, it stays in the barn."

The killer instantly turned to Heather. Gesturing with his head, he told her to take Millie to the barn. She offered him a warm smile before she and her new companion bounded off in that direction.

Once in the barn, Heather found a bucket and filled it with water from the hose. Millie greedily lapped the water while the teenager made a dog bed out of hay and a worn tattered blanket. After drinking her fill, Millie circled the bed a few times. Finally, she plopped down on top of the blanket and curled up into a tight ball.

The teenager chuckled. "You don't look so big when you do that," she said. She sat down next to her furry friend and ran a hand over the dog's short smooth coat.

"I wish I had something to more to feed you, but Michael's the hunter of the family, not I."

Millie cocked her head, which reminded Heather of one the killer's more endearing head gestures.

"It's complicated," the girl confessed. " _He's_ complicated. And just when I think I'm starting to figure him out, he does something that confuses me even more, like letting me keep you. I wonder what got into him."

Millie closed her eyes and soon fell asleep. Heather stayed with her as she continued to think about Michael. Perhaps he was being so kind to her because he felt guilty for leaving her so often during the past couple of weeks. Then again, she doubted the serial killer ever felt remorse for anything he did.

The teenager pressed a palm to her belly. Would their child turn out to be killer, too? Probably so, considering she wouldn't have any influence in their child's life. Or maybe it wouldn't matter if she was around to raise the child. Maybe their baby would simply be born a natural killer, like her father.

 _Her?_ Heather looked down at her stomach. Was she carrying Michael's daughter? If the baby did indeed turn out to be a girl, would he be disappointed that he hadn't been given a son to carry on the Myers name?

Heather, however, knew it would be in humanity's best interest for the name to end with Michael, so she was secretly hoping for a girl. But, regardless of the baby's gender, what she wanted most was to be allowed to help raise their child. That decision, though, belonged to the killer. Her fate ultimately rested with him.

* * *

A little while later Heather walked back into hers and Michael's bedroom. He was stretched out on his side of the mattress with his eyes closed. Not wanting to disturb him, Heather quietly took off her slippers and crawled into bed.

However, just as her head touched her pillow, the killer's eyes opened. She instantly saw what he wanted, and in that moment, she wanted it, too.

"Yes, please," she said to his unasked question,

As Michael unzipped his coveralls, Heather shimmied out of her sweatpants and panties, making her pussy easily accessible. He took advantage of the opportunity presented to him by quickly sinking into her wet depths.

"Michael," she moaned, "why do you feel so good to me?"

He didn't respond other than fucking Heather hard and fast. Beads of sweat formed on her brow as she aggressively countered his deep powerful thrusts.

Michael suddenly flipped her over and raised her up onto all fours. While he fucked her from behind, he raised a hand to her throat and firmly squeezed it.

The teenager gasped as her body experienced an onslaught of new and different sensations. Being choked by the killer hurt, yet, at the same time, the pain sent waves of pleasure throughout her body. Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, his fingers tightened even further, and she came for him right then and there.

As her body shook from pure unadulterated pleasure, Heather felt Michael's warm cum splash against her inner walls. Once his orgasm receded, his fingers relaxed against her throat, yet he didn't completely release her. He seemed to be lost in the moment just like she was.

Michael eventually let Heather go. Utterly spent, she fell to the mattress in a heap. He lifted his quilt over her bare backside and then laid a hand on the small of her back.

"I'm fine," she muttered tiredly. "Just let me sleep. Please."

The killer removed his hand and left the bed. Heather wanted to ask him where he was going at such a late hour, but she couldn't summon the energy. Within seconds of hearing him zip up his uniform, she fell into a deep dreamless sleep.


	6. May 10, 2010

**ONE DAY LATER**

 **Pebble Creek, Illinois**

 **May 10, 2010**

The next morning Heather rolled out of bed at the crack of dawn. She wasn't feeling the greatest, so she quickly pulled on her panties and sweatpants. She then stepped into her slippers and ambled to the half bathroom located across the hall.

After emptying her stomach of the previous night's dinner, Heather stepped in front of the vanity to wash her hands and brush her teeth. That's when she noticed the deep bruises on her neck caused by Michael's fingers. She gingerly touched each dark spot. Although they didn't hurt much, they still looked awful. Had he really choked her _that_ hard? Heather recalled feeling some pain, but what she remembered more was the earth-shattering orgasm that had followed. Had Michael intended for that to happen, or had he truly been trying to hurt her, and she just happened to find extreme pleasure in it?

Either way, Heather held Sean fully responsible for her being able to climax under such harsh conditions. After all, he was the one who had introduced her to the world of kinky sex and pain-induced orgasms. He had spent hours conditioning both her mind and body to sexually respond to him while in severe pain.

Heather remembered the clothespins, wooden paddles, and large vibrators quite well. Those were his favorite instruments to use, but there were more. A lot more. However, they all failed to produce anything close to the orgasm she had experienced while being choked by Michael. Maybe the killer was finally turning her into a masochist.

Scoffing to herself, Heather reached for her toothbrush and began brushing her teeth. The spearmint taste of the toothpaste suddenly sent her rushing back to the toilet. Afterward, she was still feeling lightheaded and dizzy, so she sat down on the closed toilet seat. She closed her eyes and put her head in her hands while she waited for the nausea to pass.

As Heather sat there, she heard Samantha's soft footsteps approach the bathroom door. A moment later the door creaked open a jar.

"Heather, are you all right?" the woman asked.

"Yeah, I think it's just morning sickness," the teenager replied.

"I figured," said Samantha as she entered the small room. "Here, let me get you a cold washcloth for your face."

While Samantha turned on the sink's faucet, Heather sighed heavily. "He left again, didn't he?"

The woman nodded, confirming what the teenager's heart already told her.

"Yes, a few hours ago," Samantha said, "but his car is still here, if that's any consolation." She handed Heather the white washcloth, her hazel eyes widening at the sight of the younger's throat.

"I think Michael was angry about the dog," the blonde girl assumed.

Samantha abruptly shook her head. "He wasn't angry about the dog, Heather. If he had wanted, he could have killed that dog in an instant. The problem was he didn't want to kill it. That's why he lashed out at you. His feelings for you are changing him, and last night he realized just how much much. Now, he has to find a way to rectify the situation before he completely loses himself you."

Heather felt the color drain from her face. " _Rectify_?" she asked. "What exactly does that mean?"

Samantha expression hardened. "It means Michael will have to do whatever is necessary to eliminate the feelings he possesses for you from his being."

The teenager's brow furrowed in confusion. "But why? If Fate intended me to get pregnant by him, then maybe we are destined to be together."

Samantha scoffed loudly. "Heather, Fate never intended Michael Myers to be with _anyone_. He is the Boogeyman. Falling in love with someone would completely ruin him. Don't you understand that? If I was you, I'd stop pining over him and accept that your days are numbered. You'd be doing you both a great favor."

Samantha spun on her heels and walked out of the bathroom, leaving the younger alone to ponder what had been said. Heather tossed her washcloth into the sink's porcelain basin and shakily rose to her feet. If Fate intended for she and Michael to be together, then she had to keep faith that everything would work itself out in the end.

In order for that to happen, the teenager knew she could never stop fighting for the Boogeyman's love. He had already captured her heart. Now, she had seven months to capture his. And failure was not an option.

With her soul filled with a new sense of purpose, Heather sauntered downstairs. She passed through the living room where Samantha was watching the news. The teenager paused at the front door when a news reporter asked, "Mrs. Veers, do you think your daughter Heather is dead?"

The camera panned away from the man's face and focused on the golden-haired beauty standing next to him. "No," Melissa Veers firmly replied. "Until her body is found, I will always believed that my daughter is alive and well."

"Well, there you have it," the reporter said. "Although the search for seventeen-year-old Heather Veers is going on its sixth week, her mother Melissa Veers still holds onto hope that her daughter is alive. A five-hundred-thousand dollar reward is still being offered for Heather's safe return. If you have any information regarding her disappearance, please call silent observer or the Haddonfield police." Both numbers popped up on the screen for a moment before the news moved onto the next story.

"Well, my mother is persistent, I'll give her that," Heather said.

"Yes," Samantha agreed. "Like mother, like daughter."

Smirking, Heather opened the door and stepped onto the porch. She was depending on her persistence to save her life. She just hoped it would be enough.

Heather shielded her eyes from the morning sun as she stepped off the porch. She had no idea where Michael would be, so she headed to the barn instead. She found Millie lying on the ground chewing on a large bone that still had sinew and bits flesh attached to it.

At first Heather thought Millie caught herself something to eat. Upon further inspection, however, it was obvious that the bone had been cleanly cut from its source, not chewed off. That could only mean one thing-Michael had shared his breakfast with Millie.

Heather left the barn to hunt for the killer. If being around her was truly changing him, then she had to speak to him about it. That was the only way she was going to fully understand what was happening between them.

Heather entered a patch of woods. She aimlessly wandered through the thicket looking for the elusive Boogeyman. Finally, she caught sight of a figure sitting on a large fallen tree with his back facing her. She assumed the person was Michael until she saw his long dark hair that fell just past his shoulders. She then noticed he was holding a familiar white mask loosely in his hands. His head was bent, and his shoulders were slumped forward, indicating that he was staring down at his mask.

Heather gasped into her palm. She had never seen Michael look so vulnerable. She knew she was the cause of his distress. She wanted to fix it, but she didn't quite know how. "Michael…?" she softly ventured.

He remained motionless, except for his fingers. They clenched his mask tightly, yet he made no move to put it back on.

"May I join you?" Heather asked.

The killer sat completely still for a full minute before giving his head a sharp nod.

Heather cautiously approached the fallen tree. Black eyes met gray as he turned to offer her his hand. She paused, certain she was the first person to see Michael's real face in years.

His face was ageless as though time itself was even too scared to touch it. He wasn't dashingly handsome, but there was something about his features that still allured her to him-or maybe it was just _him_.

Michael beckoned with his fingers to get Heather's attention. Blushing, she placed her hand in his. He helped her climb up alongside side of him. Once she sat down, she found herself staring at him, again. "Sorry," she muttered, thoroughly embarrassed by her behavior. "It shouldn't matter - I mean it doesn't - not really. It's still you - just a different you."

The killer solemnly nodded. He then reached for Heather. She willingly went into his arms, somehow sensing that this was going to be their last time together for awhile.

Michael raised a hand to her face. He reverently ran the pad of his thumb down Heather's cheek and over her lips. Then, he tilted her chin up. A moment later his mouth hungrily latched onto hers.

Heather automatically reached for the zipper to Michael's coveralls. While she undressed him, her hands restlessly roamed over his chest and stomach before finally coming to rest on his cock. He groaned into her mouth as she took him in her hand, smearing his precum down the length of his shaft.

With their mouths still molded together, Michael gently lowered Heather to the ground. She continued to touch him while he pushed her sweatpants and panties down past her knees. She then kicked them off, sending her slippers with them.

Heather spread her legs wide, which gave the killer a clear view of her fingers rubbing her clit, if he chose to look. Eventually, he did abandon her mouth to watch her hands pleasure them both.

Grinning wickedly, Heather turned her hips towards Michael and guided the head of his erection to her hard wet nub. After coating his cock with her juices, she strategically maneuvered her body so that she could suck on him while giving him the opportunity to taste her at the same time. She moaned in delight when he took her up on the offer.

Michael's tongue parted Heather's lower lips so that he could stimulate her sensitive clit. All at once, he harshly bit down on it and forcibly shoved two fingers straight into her rectum. The teenager screamed in painful bliss, which allowed the killer's cock to slide even further down her throat.

Heather violently rocked against his digits as his tongue ravished her pussy. She suddenly felt that all too familiar tug in her belly, but she was determined to make Michael come with her. She swirled her tongue around his cock and grazed it with her teeth. In response, he nipped her inner walls while brutally digging his fingers deeper in her anus.

Just as Heather's body started spasming, Michael's cock twitched hard. She reflexively swallowed the stream of warm seed that ensued. He withdrew from her soon after, allowing her mouth to finally rest. However, he was still hard, clearly not yet sated.

Knowing what the killer needed, Heather laid flat on her back and opened her legs. He did not hesitate to align his body with hers. He then pressed his mouth against her sealed lips, forcing them apart. Their tongues indulged in a rhythmic dance as their bodies merged to become one.

While they kissed and fucked, Heather let her mind go blank, which allowed her five senses to be fully consumed by Michael until all that was left in her world was him. The experience was completely overwhelming, but the connection was one she desperately needed.

Heather was vaguely aware of Michael shifting positions as she ground down hard on his cock. She paused for a moment to relish the feeling of it throbbing inside of her. She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, and that's when she realized she was now sitting on top of him. Sean never once allowed her to be the aggressor and to have the Boogeyman willing to relinquish that role to her made her quite uncomfortable.

Michael suddenly thrust upwards, penetrating Heather even deeper. Caught off guard, she leaned forward onto his chest. He hugged her close to him as he continued to fuck her.

After a few minutes, Heather gained the courage to sit back up. Michael deftly slid his hands up the inside of her shirt to her braless breasts. He sharply tweaked her erect nipples while she rode him. Whimpering, she bit her lower lip and arched her spine. The killer, in turn, moved one of his hands to her clit. As he rubbed the swollen nub, something inside Heather's body burst. She shrieked as she came, soaking him with her juices.

Although she was getting tired, the teenager continued bouncing on Michael's cock. She wanted nothing more than for him to orgasm with her. In response, he grabbed ahold of her shoulders. He pushed them forward, bringing her mouth back to his. They fervently kissed as they both sought their final release.

Once it finally happened, Heather collapsed onto Michael, her body shaking from the experience. Even he was fighting for breath, which was quite unusual for him. That's when the teenager knew they had done more than fucked - that they had shared something far more intimate.

Michael didn't let the the euphoria between them last long. He abruptly sat up, carelessly depositing the teenager next to him on the ground. He then rapidly zipped up his coveralls and reached for his mask. With his black orbs locked on her, he slammed the white expressionless face down over his head.

Knowing she was losing the killer and fast, Heather rushed to get her clothes back on. He was already halfway out of the thicket by the time she caught up with him. "Whatever you're planning, it's not going to work," she defiantly voiced. "I love you, Michael Myers, and nothing you do will ever change that."

He suddenly stopped walking in midstep and lunged at Heather, shoving her hard into a nearby tree. The force in which she hit the tree's thick trunk was enough to daze her. The Boogeyman held her up against it until she started regaining her senses. He then released his grip on her shoulders.

Heather swayed slightly on her feet but managed to remain upright without leaning on the tree for support. Once she felt well enough to talk, she said, "You know what, you're right, Michael. You don't deserve my love. I want my ring back. Now."

He blinked, appearing stunned by her request.

"Now, Michael," Heather harshly reiterated, holding out her hand. "You obviously don't want me to be yours, so you shouldn't mind returning the ring to its rightful owner."

The killer's gaze hardened, yet he still reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the diamond. Heather took it from him. He observed her closely as she slipped the ring onto her finger. It felt heavy and foreign; however, she could not let him win this battle, so it stayed.

"If you ever want it back, you'll have to prove your love for me," she firmly told him. "Otherwise, the ring remains on my finger until I breathe my last breath. Got it?"

Michael stared down at the diamond. He calmly nodded, but Heather could see a hint of rage burning in his black eyes. She wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

The killer began walking again. This time, though, the teenager followed a few steps behind him. He led her out of the woods and directly to his purple Hellcat. She had no idea of his intentions, but she knew he was going to push her to her ultimate limits in order to preserve his identity as the Boogeyman.

"Do you really think you'll be able to stop loving me?" she quietly asked him.

Michael's hand briefly paused on the door handle before he yanked open the door. That told Heather he was uncertain but was going to do his damnedest to try.

"You might be fighting a losing battle, Michael," she said. "Would it really be so bad just to give in to your feelings?"

He turned to face the teenager, his expression completely blank.

"Fine," she relented. "I guess I'll see you whenever you come back, then."

The killer's gaze fell to her belly and lingered there.

Heather laid a hand on her womb and tenderly rubbed it with her fingers. "Don't worry, Michael. I'll take good care of the baby. I promise."

He nodded, yet for a split second, he looked amused, as though he was laughing at a joke at the teenager's expense. Before she could confront him about it, he sat down in the driver's seat and closed the door.

Heather stepped away from the Dodge. Its engine roared to life, and Michael sped down the gravel driveway, leaving a trail of dust behind him. The Hellcat's tires squealed when they hit the pavement of the road. The blonde girl ran to a clearing and watched the car until it turned into a small speck on the horizon.

"I warned you my nephew would break your heart," Samantha said, walking up to Heather's side.

The younger firmly shook her head. "No, he didn't break it, Samantha."

"Not yet, perhaps," the woman replied, "but Michael is on a mission to hurt you, and he _will_ succeed. It makes me wonder what he has in store for you."

"Whatever it is, my love for him will overcome it," Heather vowed.

The woman merely shrugged and said, "We shall see. In the meantime, I'm going to the store to pick up a few groceries and dog food. Michael fed the beast this morning, but now that he's gone, it will be your responsibility to take of it, as it should be."

Samantha studied Heather for a long moment and then said, "While I'm gone, you can start cleaning my storage room. It might help ease your anxieties. All this stress is not good for the baby."

The teenager sighed. "Okay," she conceded.

"There's space in the cellar for most of the stuff you'll find in the room," Samantha told her.

Nodding, Heather turned towards the farmhouse. She was glad that Samantha was going shopping. The woman may not have hated the teenager, but she certainly did not like the fact that the younger had feelings for the Boogeyman.

Heather was determined not to let Samantha dissuade her from loving Michael. As long as she loved him, there would always be a chance to salvage their relationship. Without that love, all would be lost.

The teenager entered the farmhouse and went directly upstairs. She was never given a proper tour of the house, so she used the time she was given to explore the second floor.

Heather opened the first door she came to and peeked into the room. To her surprise, it was a spare bedroom. That meant she and Michael hadn't needed to share a room. The fact that he had insisted upon it, especially at the end, was very telling. There had obviously been something within him that still craved her companionship, despite that he had been doing his best to stay away from her. Perhaps, she would be able to use that to her advantage in the future.

Heather closed the door on the bedroom. She walked to the next room. She had some troubling opening its door. When she did finally manage to open it, she saw why. The room's small floor space was laden with cardboard boxes and other miscellaneous household items.

This had to be the room Samantha intended for the baby. Although it wasn't very big, Heather figured she could still fit a crib, changing table, dresser, and maybe even a rocking chair in it-though where she would find any of those items was still a mystery. However, envisioning the finished product still excited her. She couldn't wait to get started.

* * *

Heather worked on clearing the baby's baby's room well into the afternoon. Finally, she took a break from sorting and hauling boxes to eat a tuna sandwich. Since it was a warm sunny day, she ate her sandwich outside underneath a large oak tree.

Millie joined her, but the teenager was beginning to feel lonely for a true human friend. If only she had someone whom she could hang out with-someone who didn't know or care about the reward on her head. Even though she knew she was asking for the impossible, she sent her wish up to her dad, anyway, hoping he would somehow grant it.

Feeling tired, Heather sent Millie back to the barn and headed back to her bedroom. She laid down, relieved to take some pressure off her lower back.

She closed her eyes for what like a brief moment. However, when they next opened, the sun was already sinking below the trees. Heather quickly rolled out of bed. It was time to feed Millie her dinner.

The black and white dog greeted her eagerly at the barn's entrance. The teenager patted the canine's head as she set the food dish on the ground. "Sorry, I'm late, Millie. I took a nap and overslept."

Heather looked around the old barn and sighed. "I'm sure living here is much better than where you came from, but one day I am going to find you a real home. I promise."

Millie happily wagged her tail while she continued to eat.

"I'll take you on a walk tomorrow, okay? It's getting too dark to go out tonight."

Once Millie finished eating, Heather found an old rope that they used to play tug of war. The teenager laughed when the dog attempted to pull her across the barn. "Man, you're strong," she chuckled. Finally, let go of the rope, letting Millie win the game.

"All right, you crazy lug," Heather said. "I need to eat now, too. I'll see you in the morning."

She sauntered out of the barn and into the house. Samantha, who was in the living room reading a book, greeted Heather with a brief wave of the hand.

"Dinner's on the stove," the woman said. "Just put the leftovers in the fridge when you get done eating."

Heather ate Samantha's chicken casserole in the kitchen by herself. Once she finished, she cleared the table and headed back to her bedroom.

The teenager's clothes were filthy, but her wardrobe was still very limited, so she decided just to wear a green t-shirt and black panties to bed. Then, she hunkered down in Michael's quilt, letting his scent arouse her. Closing her eyes, she imagined he was in the room, silently observing her with his ever watchful obsidian orbs as she stuffed two fingers into her wet pussy. She moaned quietly at the image she had conjured in her mind.

Heather worked her digits hard. Her breathing became erratic and her legs shook, yet she failed to fully satisfy herself. Michael was the one for whom her soul ached, not pleasure created by memories and her own hand.

Heather rolled onto her side and pulled the quilt up past her her shoulders. If the Boogeyman ended up rejecting her after her pregnancy, there would be no need for him to physically kill her. Considering how badly she yearned for his companionship, she knew she would instantly die from heartbreak. And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Her soul - the very essence of her being - belonged to him.


	7. June 18, 2010

**FIVE WEEKS LATER**

 **Pebble Creek, Illinois**

 **June 18, 2010**

"Heather!" Samantha hollered from the foyer.

The teenager reluctantly rose from the couch in the family room and sauntered into the living room. "I'm here," she muttered as Michael's aunt closed the front door.

"Of course you are," the woman answered, sounding somewhat disgruntled. "You have earned my trust, Heather, which is why I called for you. As I was driving past my neighbor's house just now, I noticed that she was having a yard sale. She appeared to be selling a lot of baby items. If you're interested, I will allow you to drive over there and take a look at them. It's about half a mile up the road. You can take your dog with you, too."

Although the chance to leave Samantha's property delighted Heather, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being set up for something. "All right, so what's the catch?" she asked, vocalizing her suspicion. "Do you want someone to recognize me and send me back home?"

"What?! No, of course not!" Samantha exclaimed. "Good gracious, Heather. Michael trusted me with the responsibility of keeping his heir safe, and he has no patience for failure. I may be seventy-two, but I want to die from old age, not from him slicing my throat in a fit of rage. How easily you forget that my life is at stake here as well."

Heather released a light sigh. "I haven't forgotten, Samantha. I'm trying to keep the loss of lives down to a minimum. Let's just hope Michael cooperates."

"As long as you continue to stay here, he should," the woman said.

"Why do you think I haven't left?" Heather countered. "You and I might have our differences concerning Michael, but I certainly don't wish you dead because of it."

Samantha cracked a rare smile. "You're a good girl, Heather, with a good heart. That is why I am willing to let you go out. You need it. However, you cannot leave dressed the way you are. No, we need to find you a proper disguise. Come. I have an idea."

Heather followed Samantha upstairs to the unoccupied guest room. The latter opened the door and said, "I saved some of my late husband's clothes for Michael, but I am certain he won't mind you wearing them. For whatever reason, he has always favored coveralls." Samantha walked to the closet and pulled its folding doors open. "As you can see, he has quite the collection."

Heather peered over the older woman's shoulder, gasping at what she saw. Inside hung a row of navy blue coveralls, some more stained and faded than others. "Did you buy all of these for him?" inquired Heather.

Samantha shook her head. "I would have," she replied, "but he enjoys hunting for them himself."

The teenager's eyes widened as she continued to stare at all the uniforms, which at one time had belonged to a man other than Michael. "How could he have killed all these people without anyone noticing?"

"He can be very discrete when he wants to be, Heather. I am sure not all these men were beloved by their families or acquaintances. Besides, as you should know, it is not uncommon for people to go missing. It's just a part of life."

Heather suddenly took in her surroundings. "This is his room, isn't it?"

Samantha nodded. "Yes. When he isn't in Haddonfield, he stays here with me."

"You two must be very close, then."

"We are," the woman confirmed. "I am one of the few people who truly understands him, and he respects that."

Looking around the bedroom, Heather said, "I find it interesting that Michael has his own room, yet he kept sharing one with me right up until he left."

Samantha pursed her lips together . "I have no doubt that he enjoyed fucking you, Heather," she stated after a brief moment, "but that's as far as your relationship with him goes. You will never know Michael as I do, because he won't ever let you get that close to him - not anymore."

Samantha reached into the closet and pulled out a pair of brown muck boots. Then, she turned to a dresser. After rummaging through few drawers, she held up a large red t-shirt and a pair of denim overalls. "These should do just fine," she said.

Heather grabbed the clothes and quietly asked, "Have you ever seen Michael's face?"

After a long pause, Samantha finally spoke. "Once. A long time ago. He is very careful to keep it covered." Her eyes narrowed. "Why? Have you seen it?"

Heather gave her head a negative shake, sensing that in this instance, it would be best to lie. "No," she firmly responded.

Nodding, Samantha said, "You never will either. Now, please change your clothes. I want you to get to the yard sale before all the baby items are sold."

The teenager did not argue. Once she was dressed in the baggy clothes and large boots, Samantha twisted all of Heather's hair into a bun and pinned it under an old Cubs baseball cap to keep it from being seen. Lastly, the younger was handed a pair of black framed sunglasses. She put them on and then turned to Samantha.

"Good," the woman said. "Just take off your ring, and you'll be all set."

"No," Heather abruptly answered. "It stays on. Michael and I made a deal. If it ever comes off, then you'll know he has chosen to be with me forever."

Samantha scoffed. "You'll be buried with that ring on your finger, Heather."

"Maybe, maybe not," the teenager disputed. "I'm hoping not.

"Of course you are," said Samantha. "Well, if you won't take the ring off, at least spin it around."

Once Heather obeyed, Samantha circled her.

"Yes, I think my nephew would approve this disguise," the woman declared. "You have my permission to leave now." She then pressed a fifty dollar bill and her keys into the teenager's palm and said, "Remember, Heather, I trust you. Oh, and don't forget your dog."

Heather would have run out of the farmhouse had it not been for the clunky boots she was wearing. Instead, she was forced to walk clumsily to the barn."Millie!" she called.

The dog bounded out of the old structure, her hindquarters wiggling with excitement. Heather laughed at the sight. "Come on, Millie," she encouraged. "Let's go for a ride."

* * *

It didn't take long for Heather to find the yard sale. She pulled into the paved driveway and parked Samantha's vintage black Mustang in the turnaround in front of the house. A white bassinet sitting in the front lawn instantly caught the teenager's eye. She urgently commanded Millie to jump out of the Ford before the cradle was sold to someone else.

Heather and Millie quickly crossed the freshly cut grass, stopping at the bassinet. While Heather admired the intricate lace work cascading down from its wicker basket, a brunette woman carrying a baby girl approached her.

"It's still in really good condition," the woman said. "We only used it for about six months. Jane, here, prefers to sleep in a crib."

Heather simply nodded.

The woman shifted Jane in her arms and asked, "Do you know someone who is pregnant? Your wife perhaps?"

Confused, Heather stared at the brunette from behind her tinted lenses.

"I noticed your ring."

The teenager glanced down at the plain gold band. Then, she studied the woman. She wished she possessed Michael's keen ability to look into people. However, there was still something about the woman that she instantly liked.

A frown gradually formed on the woman's face. "Is something wrong?"

Sighing, Heather spun her ring around so that the diamond showed. "I'm not married," she murmured.

The brunette's blue eyes widened. "Nor are you a young man," she quietly stated.

The teenager shook her head. "No, I'm not."

The woman regarded Heather for a long moment and then asked, "How far along are you?"

"Only eleven weeks."

"Forgive me," the woman said, "but you must be roasting in those clothes. Here, let me get you a nice cold glass of lemonade."

"No, I'm fine. Please, don't go through all that trouble," said Heather. "I just stopped by to look at your baby stuff."

"It's no trouble," persisted the woman. "Just give me a minute, okay? In fact, why don't you and your dog take a seat on our back deck? The awning up there casts some nice shade."

Heather shook her head, mostly in disbelief. "You don't even know me," she muttered. "Are you always this kind to strangers?"

A light frown touched the woman's lips. "Believe it or not, I have a seventeen-year-old daughter. If she was in your position, I'd hope someone would show her some kindness. Now, please, go sit down."

Heather sighed but followed the woman's command. She guided Millie up the deck's steps. Once they reached the deck, which overlooked a beautiful pool, the teenager sat down at a round glass table. Millie hunkered down by Heather's feet, seemingly happy to escape the hot sun. Even the girl had to admit that resting in the shade really felt good.

"Here you are," the woman said, handing Heather a tall glass of ice cold lemonade. "I asked my husband to pack up all the baby items for you."

Heather reached into her front pocket and pulled out the fifty dollar bill. The woman immediately waved it off.

"No, keep it. I'm just glad we're able to help you out."

Heather gratefully pocketed the money. "Thank you, Mrs….?"

The woman sat down across from teenager and said, "Mrs. Hoffman, but you can call me Clara. And who are you?"

The blonde girl lowered her shades and tucked them away with the folded bill. When Clara still didn't show any sign of recognition, the younger took off the old baseball cap and shook out her hair.

"Oh my god," the woman breathed. "You're Heather Veers. Your picture has been _everywhere_. You've lost some weight since it was taken, though. That's why I didn't recognize you at first."

Heather nodded as she returned the cap to her head. "I've been dealing with really bad morning sickness for over a month now."

"Oh that's the worst," Clara sympathized. "Mine went away after the first trimester. Maybe yours will, too."

"I sure hope so," Heather replied.

The woman's eyes narrowed. "Is the pregnancy the reason you left home?"

The teenager shook her head. "It was much too soon for me to know about the pregnancy when I left. It was the engagement to my fiancé that made me so upset."

Frowning, Clara asked, "The two aren't related?"

"No," said Heather. "One nearly cost me my life; the other saved it - at least for now."

"All the news reports say you left armed with a knife. Were you intending to go after your fiancé? Did he threaten you in some way?"

Heather sighed heavily. "Clara, my fiancé is a complete asshole, but I never once thought about killing him. It was _my_ life I wanted to end, not his." She showed the brunette the inside of her wrist where a faint thin scare proved her story. "The man who got me pregnant stopped me just in time. He saved me to protect our baby."

Clara's brow furrowed in confusion. "Wait, you didn't know you were pregnant, but _he_ did? That doesn't make any sense. Who exactly is your baby's father?"

"The Boogeyman," Heather answered. "At least in Haddonfield that's who he's known as."

"Michael Myers," Clara breathed.

"Yes," the teenager confirmed. "After he found me, he brought me to his aunt's house with the clear understanding that I am to stay there until I have the baby."

"And then what?"

"Well, then he will either accept the fact that he loves me and let me live," said Heather, "or he will deny his love and kill me."

Clara's cocked her head. "Do you really think he loves you?"

The teenager sighed heavily. "I _know_ he does, but loving me contradicts everything he has ever known about himself. Five weeks ago he left me to do whatever he can to stop it."

"How?"

Heather watched the condensation drip down her untouched glass of lemonade and said, "I don't know."

Clara stared at the teenager, her lips set in a tight line. "You're fiancé must really be an awful man if you chose Michael Myers over him."

"I didn't chose Michael. If anything he chose me, though, honestly, I think it was more of a matter of convenience. He was going to kill me afterwards, but he knew he had already gotten me pregnant, so he spared my life."

"It sounds like Fate intervened on your behalf," said Clara.

"It's wouldn't be the first time," Heather told her. "I was in a horrible car accident a few years ago. It claimed my father's life, yet, by some miracle, I survived."

Clara leaned forward in her seat, her expression solemn. "Heather, do you love Michael?"

"With all my heart," the younger fervently answered.

"Then, you will survive this, too," Clara firmly declared. "No matter what Michael does, you must not give up fighting for his love. My family and I are here to help you. We will support you the best we can."

Tears sprang to Heather's eyes. "You have no idea what that means to me."

"I think I do," Clara said. "I can see it on your face. I can't imagine being in your shoes. No wonder you've been so sick. You need to do something to relieve your stress."

"I play with Millie," Heather pointed to the dog sleeping by her feet, "and I've been working on the baby's room, which helps."

"But it's not enough," Clara argued. "You need something more. What if I teach you how to sew?"

" _Sew?_ " the teenager repeated, unsure of the suggestion.

"My mom's a great seamstress," another female voice responded. "If she can teach me to sew, she can teach you."

Clara smiled as a brunette teenager dressed in a red tank top and denim cut-offs made her way to the table. "Tracy, hi," the woman greeted. "Heather this is my daughter Tracy. Tracy, this is Heather."

"Hey, I know you," Tracy claimed. "You're that Veers girl everyone's been talking about." Her caramel eyes narrowed. "The police say you're dangerous."

"Only to myself," Heather darkly replied. "I had no intention of hurting anyone else."

Before Tracy could respond, Clara said, "Heather's been living with Samantha Myers for the last few months."

"That old witch?" Tracy asked, allowing the conversation to move forward. "She literally gives me the creeps."

Heather smirked. "I can see why."

"Isn't she related that serial killer from Haddonfield?"

"Michael Myers," Heather said. "And yes, he's her nephew, though they aren't blood relatives."

Clara abruptly rose to her feet. "Well, now that you're home, Tracy, I will let you entertain our guest for a bit while I check to see how your father is doing with the yard sale. Also, I put Jane down for a nap, so if you go inside the house, please be a little quiet."

"Okay, Mom," the brunette teenager replied.

Once Clara was out of earshot, Tracy said, "Aren't you afraid Michael might show up while you're staying with his aunt?"

"Yes, but probably for a different reason than you're thinking," Heather assumed. "He and I already know each other on very intimate terms."

"When you say _very intimate_ , do you mean you had sex with him?"

The blonde girl laughed. "Yes, that's what I meant, sorry. I wasn't sure if you'd be comfortable talking about sex."

Now, it was Tracy's turn to laugh. "You don't participate in much girl talk, do you?"

Heather shook her head. "No, I don't have any girlfriends."

"But you _do_ have a fiancé," the brunette said, eyeing the other's ring.

"Who taught me more about sex than you'd probably ever care to know."

"Oh, is he into kink, and fetishes, and stuff?"

"Yeah, that pretty much sums him up," Heather drolly answered. "I was with him for two years, but it wasn't love that kept us together. It was a damn contract he had written that listed and explained everything he could do to me."

"I've heard about those types of relationships," said Tracy. "I guess it works for some people, as long as the terms are mutually agreed upon."

"My mom read the contract and agreed to its terms," Heather tersely explained. "She and my fiancé had me sign it without allowing me to read it first. However, my fiancé was kind enough to demonstrate what he expected from me during our time together."

"That's really sick," Tracy stated. "I can't believe your own mother would do that to you."

"Yeah, well, hopefully that part of my life is behind me now," Heather said. "I'm trying to move on."

"Yet you're still wearing his ring."

"It's a test for Michael," Heather explained. "If he proves that he loves me, I will take it off. If he doesn't, then I will die with it on."

"Oh!" Tracy gasped. "Are you ill?"

"Not ill," said Heather. "Pregnant. Michael has until I give birth to pass this test. If he fails, it means he is going kill me. Simple as that."

Tracy's caramel eyes widened. "How on earth are you going to get a man like him to fall in love with you."

A faint frown touched Heather's lips. "It already happened," she said. "The challenge will be reminding him that he loves me."

Tracy smirked. "Just being around you is going to do that."

"Not if he's not here," Heather replied. "He left me five weeks ago, and I bet he won't return until I'm in labor for that exact reason." She took a sip of lemonade and within seconds regretted it. She hurried down to the bushes before she embarrassed herself in front of her new acquaintance.

"My mom had it really bad, too," Tracy said.

"I just want the sickness to end," Heather groaned as she straightened to her full height. "I'm so sick of being sick."

The brunette shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do to help."

"It's fine," said Heather. "I just wish the man responsible for this was here to witness what I'm going through. Maybe then he'd come to appreciate me a little bit more."

"Or maybe he wouldn't care," Tracy said. "I think that would be worse."

"Yeah, you're right," Heather agreed. "Maybe it's best that he isn't here right now." She glanced down at Millie, who was standing at her side, and sighed. "I should go so that I can rest. I'm still not feeling very well."

"Why don't you stay here?" Tracy suggested. "I don't think my mom would mind. Besides we have central air, so it's nice and cool inside."

Heather sighed. "As good as that sounds, I have already stayed longer than expected." She retwisted her hair and crudely shoved it up underneath the Cubs cap. Then, she put her shades back on and started walking toward the front yard with Millie and Tracy trailing slightly behind her.

"Oh, are you leaving?" Clara asked Heather when she neared Samantha's Mustang.

The blonde girl reluctantly nodded.

"You're still planning to come back for sewing lessons, though, right?"

"When?" asked Heather.

"Well, I'll be busy with the yard sale tomorrow," Clara said, "but what about Sunday afternoon, let's say at at one? Will that work for you?"

"I don't see why it shouldn't," Heather replied. "I'll have to bring Millie, again, though."

"That won't be a problem. She can stay in the garage. It's a lot cooler in there than outside, and I'll make sure she has plenty of water, too."

"Then, maybe after your lesson, we could go swimming," Tracy suggested.

Heather shook her head. "I don't have a bathing suit."

"That's all right," Clara said. "I have a maternity tankini you can wear. The top might be a little big for you right now, but it's nothing that can't be temporarily altered."

"Thank you," said Heather. She wasn't sure how she felt wearing a swimsuit in front of strangers, but at least a tankini would cover the majority of her back. Telling the Hoffmans of her violent past with Sean was something she did not want to do.

"The baby items are all set for you to take," stated Clara, "but it might be best to leave the bassinet here. Tracy can drive it over to you tomorrow morning in her Explorer. She just won't be able to stay long, because my husband," she gestured to a tall man with light hair, "has to go into work to make up for the hours he lost today, so I need Tracy here to watch Jane while I run the yard sale. It will be too hot for Jane to be outside all day with me."

Heather nodded and then turned to the brunette teenager, "Mornings have been really rough for me, so I usually wake up between seven and eight. Samantha gets up even earlier than that, though."

"I'll stop by around nine, then," Tracy said.

While Heather and Millie got into the Mustang, Clara set three paper grocery bags on the passenger seat.

"Thanks, again, for this," the blonde girl said.

"You're very welcome, Heather," Clara replied. "My brother might have even more stuff that you can have. He's got three young kids, two boys and a girl. I'll ask him if he has any old baby items he'd like to donate to a good cause."

"Oh, that would be great," said Heather. "Thank you so much."

Clara gave her a long searching look. "Stay strong, Heather. Remember, if you need anything, we're here for you."

The teenager simply nodded.

"See you Sunday, then." Clara shut the car door walked away from the car.

"I wish you could stay," Tracy said.

"I know," Heather empathized. "Samantha says she trusts me, but this is the first time she allowed me to go out, and I don't want to do anything to spoil my chances of it happening, again. I really want to come back over on Sunday."

"For sure," the brunette agreed.

Heather closed her door and started the Mustang. She waved farewell to her new friend, who copied her hand gesture. She glanced at Millie in the rear view mirror and smiled. "Maybe my dad is looking out for me after all."

* * *

A few minutes later Heather drove up to Samantha's farmhouse. Her eyes instantly widened by what she saw. Parked in its usual spot was a familiar purple Hellcat.

Heather pulled up next to it and threw the Mustang into park. After killing the engine, she ordered Millie to the barn and rushed to the front door, her heart racing. She anxiously wiped her damp palms on her thighs. Then, she took off her sunglasses and entered the house.

Samantha walked out of the kitchen, her lips set in a grim line.

"He's back," Heather said as she pocketed her shades.

"Yes," the woman slowly answered, "but he's not alone. He returned with another girl."

The teenager's pounding heart stopped for a brief moment, and suddenly she felt faint.

"Heather, I told you he would find a way to hurt you," Samantha said.

The younger fiercely shook her head. "No!" she gasped. "No, he wouldn't do that. Not even _he_ could be _that_ cruel."

"Heather, Michael can be _very_ cruel, especially when the situation warrants it, like in your case," Samantha sternly stated. "Rest assured, he _will_ make you hate him, and once that happens, he'll have every reason to kill you."

Heather raised an eyebrow at Samantha. "I'm confused," the younger admitted. "If Michael needs to use _my_ hate as motivation to kill me, does that mean he still loves me?"

The woman's hazel eyes glinted angrily. "Michael has already chosen your replacement, Heather, so I think it's safe to assume that wants you dead. Then, he won't have to deal with you anymore, and his identity will remain intact."

"I will _never_ hate Michael," the teenager valiantly stated.

Samantha's expression turned to one of concern."Heather, listen to me. My nephew will use every method at his disposal to make you hate him, if this first attempt fails. Do you really want to test him?"

"I can't just give up," Heather emphatically insisted. "If Michael still loves me -"

Samantha gave her head a sound shake. "Heather, it's over," she firmly said. "You need to let him go."

"I don't know how," the teenager openly admitted.

A sympathetic smile touched Samantha's lips. "Just give it time, Heather. I am certain hearing Michael fucking another girl will start to wear on you after awhile, and you will grow to resent him."

Although Samantha's words made sense, she failed to understand what was in Heather's heart. The teenager's relationship with Michael wasn't just a passing fling. It was true love. However, instead of arguing with the woman, the younger decided to simply end the conversation. "I'm sure you're right, Samantha," she said. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to feed Millie."

Samantha smirked. "I don't mind at all. I have to check on dinner, anyway. Oh, and just to let you know, Michael switched bedrooms with you while you were gone. You'll find all your belongings in his former room. Consider this new living arrangement permanent for the remainder of your stay."

Once Samantha disappeared into the kitchen, Heather stormed out to the barn. It was the woman's smug attitude that made the teenager's blood boil.

"Samantha thinks she knows everything," Heather seethed to Millie as she poured food into the dog's bowl. "Well, she doesn't. Michael might be fucking another girl, but my heart will always belong to him."

Millie licked Heather's hand and then began to eat.

"I wonder if Michael found himself a virgin this time around," Heather mused out loud.

Millie raised her head, her ears perked.

"I guess it really doesn't matter," the teenager continued, "except that he's the one who gets to break her in. I was used merchandise right from the start, though it never seemed to bother him any. I just wonder if he was able to feel the difference. I know my body is pretty fucked up down there, thanks to my wonderful fiancé."

Millie suddenly crouched down on her haunches and whined. Heather instinctively turned to face the barn's entrance. There, loitering in the doorway, was the man she had come to love, and he looked to be in a foul mood.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you upon your return," Heather said, nervously watching him stride towards her. "Your aunt gave me permission to leave, so if that's what you're angry about, take it up with her."

The killer suddenly grabbed Heather by the waist, roughly unsnapped the fastener at her bibs left side, and impatiently shoved an arm down into them. He slid his hand underneath the waistband of her panties and over her pussy. She sucked in a sharp breath when he plunged two fingers straight into her folds.

Heather's body instantly accepted the harsh invasion, producing all the juices necessary for his fingers to easily fuck her. "M-michael," she stuttered while her brain played catch-up with her body's desire.

The Boogeyman's free hand unbuckled Heather's suspenders, which caused her bibs to fall into a heap at her feet. He then bent her over a hale bale and unzipped his uniform. The straw tickled her clit, stimulating her even further as he removed his fingers and sank his thick cock into her wet depths.

Heather turned her head to look at Michael. He didn't meet her stare. Instead, his gaze was dead focused on the wall in front of them. She also noticed that only their bodied were touching. His hands were tightly gripping the edge of the hay bale as he pounded her from behind.

The manner in which Michael was fucking her told Heather that he was purposely keeping his distance from her, despite the fact that he kept embedding himself deeper within her body with each powerful thrust. It was obvious his motive for having sex with her went beyond the need for physical release since he now had someone new to give him that. Whatever his motive was, Heather hoped it wasn't just to prove that she was still his to fuck anytime he wanted. If that was indeed his thought process, then she was worse off than she was with Sean, because now she was pregnant with a serial killer's baby, and her heart had gotten involved.

During her two years spent with Sean, Heather had never once thought herself to be in love with him. Yet, just after six weeks of living with Michael, she knew she was meant to be his. How he could be so stubborn as to dismiss that was beyond her comprehension - unless surrendering to his love really would destroy him.

However, if that was the case, it seemed strange that Fate would have allowed Michael to fall in love in the first place. Did Fate intend for his legacy to be over? Is that why she got pregnant? If so, what would happen if the Boogeyman denied Fate its plan and killed her? Would he and his heir be able to coexist, or would one eventually kill the other?

A sharp slap on Heather's butt cheek quickly brought her back to the present. Michael's cock was still shoved deep within her pussy, but he had stopped moving, apparently aware that he had lost her attention along the way.

Heather glanced over her shoulder. "Sorry," she muttered. "I got distracted by my thoughts."

Michael's eyes finally locked onto hers. Then, he abruptly extended a hand and knocked the Cubs cap right off her head. The teenager's hair instantly tumbled down around her face and midway down her back in an unruly mess.

"Better?" she asked, amused.

The smirk faded from Heather's lips when the killer gathered her hair in a crude ponytail, completely immobilizing her head. He kept his gaze trained on her face and once again began moving inside of her.

That physical connection was all it took to make Heather's body respond to Michael's relentless thrusts. She trembled as her juices dribbled down the length of his cock. "Michael, come with me," she softly commanded. "Please."

The killer completely withdrew from Heather. Then, he impaled her so deeply with his cock that it took her breath away. She instinctively clamped down it, holding it in place while she came.

Michael grunted and shuddered extremely hard. A gush of hot cum quickly followed. It instantly warmed Heather's insides, making her belly tingle with heat.

After filling Heather to the brim and then some, Michael pulled out of her very messy pussy. As he zipped up his coveralls, she placed a hand over her belly where the heat of his seed still bubbled within it. Suddenly, she realized what he had done. "Thank you," she sincerely said, "but how did you know? Are you _that_ in tune to our babies?" Wait. Did she just say _babies_ \- as in more than one?

Heather barely caught the killer's nod, her mind racing. Now she understood why he kept laughing at her when she referred to their conception in the singular form. Twins. They were having twins.

Heather quickly pulled up her panties and bibs. "Are they okay?" she anxiously asked while her trembling fingers struggled to hook her suspenders.

Michael nodded.

Relieved, Heather said, "Good, because I haven't been able to keep much of anything down since you left."

The teenager finally managed to clasp one suspender but was still fighting with the other. Finally, the Boogeyman took pity on her and helped hook it into place. He was now in close enough proximity for her to see that he looked regretful.

"It's fine," Heather assured him. "I was just worried about the baby. I'm actually kind of glad I didn't know there were two of them until now. But moving forward, I should start feeling better, right? I mean that _is_ the reason you came back, isn't it - to help the babies?"

Michael's hands stilled on Heather's suspenders, his fingers grazing her hard nipples through her t-shirt and bra. He didn't seem to notice, though, as he eyes were fixated on hers. That's when she knew he had come back to help her first and foremost.

"You can't stop loving me, can you?" she quietly asked.

Michael didn't respond, but Heather could see the answer shining within the depths of his black orbs. She sighed, understanding what she had to do.

"All right, Michael, let me make this easy for everyone. I will not interfere with your life, and you will not interfere with mine, unless something happens to threaten the babies. That means you can sleep with whomever you want, and I can hang out with whomever I want, without having to worry about whether or not you're going to kill them. Does that sound reasonable to you?"

Michael continued to stare at Heather but then gradually nodded.

"Okay, good," she bravely said, though inside she felt as though Michael had taken his knife and stabbed her right through the heart. However, Heather still held onto a sliver of hope that somehow everything would work itself out in the end. That sliver was all she had left to keep her going, so she refused to give it up.

Using her suspenders, Michael pulled Heather into him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, urging him to bend his head. He obliged, allowing their lips to meet in a lingering parting kiss.

"I hope you realize how much I love you," Heather muttered against the killer's masked mouth. When he nodded, she let go of him and inhaled a deep breath. She could do this - she _had_ to do this. Only by salvaging their friendship did she have any chance of saving their relationship, yet she knew keeping him as a friend was going to be pure Hell for her.

Heather and Michael left the barn together. On their way back to the farmhouse, the teenager stopped by the Mustang to grab the bags Clara had given her. The Boogeyman took two of them, leaving her with just one to carry.

"Baby stuff," Heather said when she noticed him peering into a bag. "A girl named Tracy will be dropping off a bassinet in the morning. She's my age."

Michael simply nodded as he and the teenager neared the front porch.

"Her mom is super nice, too," Heather added. "She gave me all this stuff and even offered to teach me how to sew. I'm going over there Sunday for my first lesson."

The killer paused while climbing the porch steps.

Heather sighed, the excitement vanishing from her expression. "Michael, it's okay," she said. "They're good people. Samantha must think so, too, since she sent Millie and me over to their house by ourselves, though she was probably hoping we'd just stay there."

When the killer cocked his head, Heather continued by saying, "Her patience for me has been growing thinner by the day, Michael, and I don't foresee it getting any better. If you don't kill me after I give birth, she will be one bitterly disappointed woman."

The Boogeyman stared at Heather as she opened the front door for him. During that moment, Samantha approached them with a scowl on her face.

"Well, what have we here?" she haughtily asked.

"Relax, Samantha," Heather replied. "Michael is just taking these bags upstairs for me."

The woman looked to her nephew. "So it's over, then?"

He gave his head a sharp nod.

A smile of relief touched Samantha's lips, and the killer promptly nudged Heather towards the staircase.

"See what I mean?" the teenager muttered while they climbed the stairs. "Your aunt _really_ doesn't like me."

Heather opened the door to her new room, her gaze instantly falling on Michael's former bed. Spread out on the full-sized mattress was his quilt. It now smelled more like her than him, which she assumed is why he let her keep it. However, she was still glad it remained in her possession.

Heather set her bag on the floor. Michael followed suit and gently dropped his two bags next to hers. Once they both had risen to their full height, they stood in the center of the room just staring at one another.

"Are you sure you have to do this?" Heather eventually asked, her tone quiet.

The killer's eyes narrowed.

"Fine," Heather said, "but I'm not going to make this easy for you either, Michael Myers. I love you too much to give up on you- to give up on us. We belong together," she lightly touched her belly, "as a family."

The Boogeyman's black orbs burned with both rage and passion - a very dangerous combination - yet he remained completely motionless.

Heather understood why when she heard Samantha's footsteps ascending the stairs. A moment later Michael's aunt peered into the bedroom, a look of pure disdain plastered on her face. "Dinner's ready," she tersely told Heather. However, when she addressed Michael, she did so politely. "Does your _friend_ need anything right now, Michael?"

He deliberately shook his head.

"I'll bring up a plate for her later, then." Samantha turned her shifty hazel eyes onto the teenager. "Come, Heather," she demanded. "Let my nephew be."

Heather met the killer's gaze met for a fleeting moment while she snuck past him. "I'll see you later, Michael."

He didn't respond other than watching her squeeze by Samantha on her way out.

While Heather journeyed downstairs, she heard the woman say, "You made the right decision, Michael. I hope you know that."

Not long afterwards a door slammed shut, which gave Heather some satisfaction. At least Michael didn't seem as confident in his decision as he had led her to believe, yet she doubted that would stop him from sleeping with his new partner. He seemed determined to do everything in his power to get her to hate him so that he would have a reason to kill her.

Well, Heather was just as determined not to give Michael that incentive. If he wanted her dead, then he would have to kill her in cold-blood. He might be able to betray the love he felt for her, but she never would. Her love for him was everlasting, and she would make damn sure to instill that into his mind over the next several months, no matter what.

* * *

The rest of the evening passed quietly. Neither Heather nor Samantha made any attempt to converse during dinner, and afterwards the teenager ran off to the barn to feed and play with Millie. Now, the blonde girl was lying in bed, listening for any indication that Michael was having sex. Granted, the babies' room separated them, but she figured the walls were thin enough where she'd be able to hear some moans of ecstasy. However, the farmhouse remained silent, save for Samantha coming upstairs to deliver the plate of food she had promised.

"I thought you would have woken her up by now," Heather heard the woman say. "I couldn't help but notice that Heather ate double what she's been eating lately without getting sick. I assume you had something to do with that."

There was a short pause before Samantha said, "Was the baby endanger?" After another momentary break, her voice rose slightly. "No? Then, was there really a need to sleep with her? Most pregnant women go through a period of morning sickness, Michael. It's nothing she couldn't have dealt with. You're still letting your heart dictate your actions -"

SLAM!

The power behind the bedroom door closing shook the entire house. Heather shut her eyes, her heart pounding hard. Michael was furious, and he only had person he could unleash his rage on and that was the new girl.

Heaving a deep sigh, Heather rose from the bed and ran out into the hallway. Samantha was already gone, which made it a lot easier for the teenager to barge into Michael's bedroom. He was standing over his bed but whipped around the moment the door flung open. He glowered at Heather, his coal-black eyes seething with rage.

"I know we made a deal, Michael," Heather softly voiced, "but please don't fuck her in anger. If you need to release your rage, take it out on me. I can handle it."

The Boogeyman filled her vision as he moved to stand before her. His orbs bore into hers, which meant she was unable to look anywhere else, except for him.

Heather jumped slightly when he suddenly grabbed her around the waist. With little effort, he hoisted her up over his shoulder so that she was facing his front. She couldn't see anything through her curtain of hair. However, Michael still firmly pressed a hand against the back of her head, locking her face hard against his chest to the point where she had trouble breathing.

He carried Heather back to her room and unceremoniously dropped her onto the bed. While she laid on the mattress gasping for breath, the killer grabbed a desk chair and promptly left the room. The glass doorknob rattled as he shoved the chair up underneath it.

A few moments later his bedroom door creaked open and then clicked shut. The other girl woke up soon after that, her soft voice passing through the walls for Heather to hear.

"Michael?" Although the girl sounded confused, she was obviously familiar with the killer. "Where am I? Your house?" After a short pause, she said, "Then, why did you bring me here?"

Heather grimaced when Michael's bed springs squeaked.

The girl giggled. "In that case, you didn't need to drug me, Michael. You know I would have willingly gone anywhere with you." There was another moment of silence and then she said, "So, now that I'm awake, are you going to fuck me?"

Heather held her breath as she waited for an answer.

"Really? You want me to eat first?"

Heather smirked, knowing Michael was stalling for time.

"Okay, fine," the new girl relented, "but, first, let me show you what you'll be missing…"

The grin instantly dissipated from Heather's lips when Michael's room turned quiet. It stayed that way for almost fifteen minutes until the girl spoke, again.

"Now, that I finished my dinner, may I have some dessert?" The girl suddenly moaned. "Oh, thank god," she said. "I need it so badly, Michael..."

Within just a few minutes, the girl started crying out in ecstasy. Heather quickly pulled her quilt up past her head in a feeble attempt to drown out the noise.

"That's it, Michael!" the girl exclaimed. "Oh, yes...make me come! Oh! Oh! Yeah! Fuuuuck!"

Heather knew that somewhere downstairs Samantha was smiling as the girl orgasmed. Tears stung Heather's eyes, but she didn't let them fall. Michael was purposely trying to hurt her, so she had to prove her resilience to him. Yes, it hurt that he had just slept with someone else. However, he did not love the new girl. She was merely a tool he was using to stop Heather from loving him.

A tool. That's how Heather had to view the new girl. It was no different than how Melissa Veers or Sean Reid viewed the blonde teenager. She meant absolutely nothing to either one of them. Yet, despite their indifference, her mother was offering one-hundred-thousand dollars for her safe return, and Sean wanted to marry her. Why? None of it made any sense.

Sighing heavily, Heather gazed down at her engagement ring. Her entire life didn't make any sense. The only two people who ever truly loved her had been her father and Michael. However, one was dead, and the other was trying his damndest to sever their love for each other. "It won't work, Michael," she softly vowed aloud. "We are destined to be together. You'll see."

Heather laid her head on her pillow and closed her eyes. At some point during the night, she eventually drifted off to sleep.


	8. June 19, 2010

**I realize it has been awhile since I last updated this story, but I decided to changed the the ending of the last chapter, so you might want read that first (start at the last break) before you read this newest chapter. As always, happy reading.**

* * *

 **ONE DAY LATER**

 **Pebble Creek, Illinois**

 **June 19, 2010**

For the first time in five weeks, Heather woke up without any symptoms of morning sickness. She ran a hand over her belly, still shocked that there were _two_ tiny babies nestled inside her womb. One she felt was definitely a girl. Was the other a boy? Would the Myers name continue after all?

Heather stood up and walked to the closet. All of Michael's coveralls were still hanging in it. There could have been many reasons as to why he had left them behind, but she figured the main reason was to remind her that he was the Boogeyman, just in case she would ever forget.

Heather closed the closet doors and moved on to the dresser. Either Michael or Samantha had placed her articles of clothing on top of the old clothes that were already in the drawers. She pulled out a navy t-shirt and a pair of jeans. She would have preferred to wear shorts, but Samantha refused to buy her anything that showed too much skin.

Once dressed, Heather sauntered over to the bedroom door. She turned the knob. To her surprise, the door easily swung open. The chair Michael had used to lock her in was sitting just outside the doorway.

"Michael and Diane left a little while ago," Samantha said while she emerged from the bathroom, "so I figured it was safe to let you out."

" _Safe?_ " Heather asked. "So what, I'm a prisoner now?"

The woman's expression hardened. "As I recall, your whereabouts are to remain a secret, which means you and Diane can never meet. If she was to recognize you -"

"Yeah, I get it," Heather snapped. She now understood why Michael had been so angry with her the night before. It hadn't been because she had interrupted him, but because had the girl woken up while Heather had been in the room, Heather's cover would have been blown. His priority first and foremost was to protect her from harm in order to keep their babies safe, and she had almost ruined it by playing hero. "I made a terrible mistake."

"Yes," agreed Samantha, "but I would say everything turned out all right in the end."

Heather scoffed. "He might be fucking Diane, but his heart still belongs to me," she confidently stated.

The woman's hazel eyes narrowed. "For now."

"Forever," the younger boldly predicted.

Samantha regarded Heather for a long moment as though she was suddenly seeing the teenager in a new light. "Nothing lasts forever, Heather," she voiced at last. "You will do well to remember that."

There was a certain gleam in Samantha's eyes that set Heather on edge. However, before she had the chance to delve deeper into it, the doorbell rang. "That must be Tracy. She's dropping off a bassinet for the baby."

"That's very kind of her," Samantha said.

Heather simply nodded and then ventured downstairs. Michael's aunt followed closely behind.

"Just in case, let me answer the door," Samantha commanded.

Heather stood back while Samantha greeted the visitor.

"You were right," the woman quickly confirmed, moving away from the threshold. "It _is_ Tracy."

"I brought the bassinet," the brunette told Heather. "but I'll need some help bringing it in."

The blonde girl instantly joined her new friend on the porch. Together, they walked down to Tracy's Explorer.

"I am so glad to see you," Heather said. "So much has happened since yesterday."

Concerned, Tracy asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Heather nodded. "Yeah, but not here."

The brunette nodded in understanding. "Would you like to come over to my house and help me watch Jane?"

"Yes, that would be great," the blonde teenager breathed, relieved.

"Okay, let's get this bassinet inside and them we can leave."

The two girls carried the bassinet upstairs to the babies' room. Tracy looked around, a frown forming on her lips. "It needs color."

"Yeah, I know, but I don't have any paint."

"Leave that to me," the brunette said. "Maybe we could work on this room together."

"I'd like that, especially since -" Heather stopped speaking and looked at her companion in earnest. "I need to pee. I'll be right back."

"Okay, sure," Tracy replied, appearing confused.

Heather dashed to the bathroom. After using the toilet, she brushed her hair and teeth. Feeling more presentable, she returned to Tracy and simply said, "Let's go."

Heather led the way downstairs to the kitchen where Samantha was sipping a hot cup of tea. "Millie and I are going over to spend the day at Tracy's, if that's okay."

Samantha slowly nodded. "Yes, fine. Just eat some breakfast first."

Heather walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a small container of blackberry yogurt. As she went to grab a spoon from the silverware drawer, Samantha huffed at her.

"My nephew goes through all the trouble to heal you, and that's all you're going to eat?"

"For now," the blonde girl answered, ignoring Tracy's raised eyebrows. "I'll eat more later. I promise."

"Yeah, we won't let her starve," the brunette quipped.

Samantha's jaw clenched angrily, and Heather quickly decided it was time to leave. "I'll be back tonight," the younger said. Using her head, she beckoned for her friend to follow her out of the kitchen.

"What did Mrs. Myers mean when she said that Michael had healed you?" Tracy asked once they had stepped outside.

"It means that he cured me of my morning sickness," Heather clarified.

"How?"

The blonde teenager called for Millie and helped the dog into the backseat of Tracy's SUV. "Through sex," Heather eventually answered. She sat down in the passenger's seat and closed the door. Tracy promptly joined her and started the ignition.

"Oh, so he's back, then?"

Heather nodded. "Yeah, but it's complicated. I really want your mom's advice, and maybe your dad's, too."

"My mom's working the yard sale until four," Tracy said, "and my stepdad won't be home from work until five-thirtyish."

"That's all right. I can wait."

"Okay, so what do you want to do in the meantime?"

The blonde teenager shrugged as she opened her yogurt. "Whatever you want."

"We could watch a couple of movies with Jane until she goes down for her afternoon nap," Tracy suggested. "Then, we can go from there."

"That sounds good," said Heather, eating her breakfast. "I haven't watched a movie in months."

Tracy's caramel eyes widened."Really? Well, we've got a lot to choose from." She pulled into her driveway and parked her Explorer in the garage. After they took care of Miller's needs, the girls wandered into the house.

"I'll get Jane from my mom," the brunette said. "In the meantime, go ahead and make yourself comfortable in the den. I won't be too long."

Heather walked into the cozy room and sat down on a couch. A few photographs of both Tracy and Jane hung from the walls. Heather looked at each one, wishing her mom treasured her as much as the Hoffmans did Tracy.

"You look so sad," Tracy quietly stated.

"It's been a few years since my mom displayed a picture of me," Heather replied. "I stopped being her daughter the moment my dad died. Sometimes I wish I would have gone with him."

The brunette glanced down at the scar on Heather's wrist. "Yeah, but now you're going to be a mom, and all that love you missed you'll be able to give to your baby, if Michael let's you."

"That's a huge if," the blonde teenager bluntly stated.

Tracy laid Jane on the soft carpet and gave her a cloth doll to play with. "I take it he doesn't love you anymore?"

Heather sighed as she sat down on the floor next to Jane. "Yes, he does, but for whatever reason, he doesn't want us to be together. He made that very clear last night."

"Why? What happened?"

"I'd rather wait to talk about it," said Heather, tearing up.

Tracy frowned. "What the hell did he do to you? Did he hurt you?"

"Yes, god, yes," Heather choked out. "But he can never know that. I need to stay strong. It's just so hard -"

Tracy suddenly embraced the blonde girl, generously giving Heather a shoulder to cry on. "I should get my mom."

"N-no, there's no r-reason to brother h-her right now," Heather sobbed. "I d-don't want her t-to see me l-like this."

"Heather, there's no shame in crying," Tracy assured her. "What are you so scared of?"

The blonde teenager raised her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Michael can never know how much he hurt me. Neither can Samantha. Otherwise, they will think they've won. And they won't. Not ever. My heart will always belong to Michael - no matter what."

Tracy stared at Heather, her face etched with concern. "Are you going to be okay?"

Heather backed away from her friend and shrugged. "I honestly don't know, but if you don't mind, I would like to clean up real quick. Where's your bathroom?"

"Just down the hallway," answered Tracy. "I'll get the movie ready while you're doing that."

Heather mutely nodded as she rose to her feet. Although watching movies wasn't going to solve any of her problems, a chance to leave reality behind for a while really appealed to her. Maybe by then she'd have a clearer idea of how to best handle the situation with Michael.

* * *

"Heather. Hey, Heather, are you hungry? Dinner's almost ready."

The blonde girl groggily opened her eyes, her mind fuzzy. "Tracy?" She sat up on the couch and looked outside. "What time is it?"

"Almost six. You fell asleep while we were watching Shrek Two, and I just let you be. I hope you're not mad."

"No."

"Good. My stepdad picked up a couple of pizzas on his way home from work. Would you like to eat with us?"

"Yes, thank you," said Heather. "That would be great."

The girls walked into the kitchen. They both plated two slices of pizza and grabbed a can of cola. Then, they sat down at the table where Tracy's parents and Jane were waiting for them.

Heather ate quietly while the Hoffmans talked about the yard sale, work, and Jane. Once they stopped mingling amongst themselves, Clara turned her attention onto their dinner guest.

"I'm glad to see that you're eating. You must be feeling a little better today."

"The blonde girl gradually nodded. "Michael returned yesterday and cured me of my morning sickness."

Clara's husband pursed his lips together while his light blue eyes narrowed. "I assume you are speaking of Michael Myers, who I also understand is the father of your baby."

"Bab- _ies_ ," Heather softly corrected. "I'm pregnant with twins."

"Good lord," he gasped.

"Robert -" Clara interjected. "I promised Heather we would do our best to help her. She needs us."

The mahogany-haired man gave Heather a long look. "Is this true?" he asked. "Do you need us?"

"I need somebody," she openly admitted. "While Michael was gone, he found himself another girl and brought her back with him. And, because I have a reward on my head, I have become a prisoner in Samantha's house." Heather gave Clara a tearful look. "I can't live like that, not again. I don't know what to do."

Robert leaned back in his seat while his wife moved to comfort Heather. "Clara was once a hairdresser," he said. "Perhaps, she can change your appearance enough so that you won't be so easily recognizable."

"Yes, of course," Clara agreed. "We can do that during your visit tomorrow. I'll go to the the drugstore as soon as it opens and buy all the supplies we'll need to change your look. How would you feel about becoming a ginger with blue eyes?"

Heather grimaced. "No, not blue," she pleaded. "Both my mother and fiancé have blue eyes."

"Fair enough," said Clara. "I will choose another color, then."

"Green," Heather abruptly said. "In memory of my father." She smiled sadly as she envisioned him in her mind. "He had the most beautiful eyes."

Clara's expression instantly softened. "I will see what I can do."

The blonde teenager wordlessly nodded while the image of her father faded back into darkness.

"Now that we got that settled, who exactly is this new girl?" Robert inquired.

Heather shrugged. "All I know is that her name is Diane and that Michael handpicked her to replace me."

"And she is here consensually?"

A lump formed in Heather's throat. "Yes," she choked out. "She likes him, but I know for a fact that he doesn't feel the same. He's only with her to hurt me so that I will stop loving him. The problem is my heart will always be his, and nothing he'll do will ever change that."

Clara gently combed her fingers through Heather's hair. "Then, you must do everything in your power to keep Michael's love alive. As long as he loves you, he will not be able to kill you."

The younger's face fell. "In order to protect all of you from harm, I promised Michael I wouldn't interfere in his life. I already crossed that boundary last night. I don't dare do it again."

"Heather, there are ways to interfere without really interfering," Clara said. "I am sure your presence alone will help remind him of his true feelings."

"Which is probably why he took off with Diane for the day," Heather dully replied. "He'll probably only return to the house at night just so I can hear them fuck."

"I can let you borrow my mp3 player and a set of headphones, if that would help," Tracy suggested.

Heather shook her head. "No, I have to prove to him that it doesn't bother me."

"You are in some for rough nights, then."

"But if they ever get too rough," Robert said, "you will always be welcome here."

"Thanks," said Heather. "I really appreciate that."

Jane started to fuss in her highchair. When Clara rose to her feet to care for the baby, Heather decided it was time for her to leave. She bade the two adults a good night, and then Tracy escorted her into the garage. Millie ecstatically greeted them

"Sorry I neglected you today," Heather apologized to her four-legged companion.

" _You_ may have, but _I_ didn't," Tracy said, petting Millie's head. "She's a good dog."

"Yeah, it's too bad both Michael and Samantha hate dogs. Otherwise, I'd let her sleep with me instead of in the barn. I could really use her companionship right now."

Tracy nodded sadly while Heather and Millie got into the Explorer. "But you'll be okay, right?"

Heather shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

The brunette started her SUV and backed out of the garage. "I'm sorry Michael is being such an ass."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from him," said Heather. "He is the Boogeyman after all."

The teenagers sat in silence until Tracy parked her Explorer by the barn. "Are they back, yet?"

"No, Michael's car isn't here. He always parks up by the house," Heather told her friend. "After I feed Millie, I think I'll just sneak inside and go straight to bed. I don't feel like dealing with Samantha any more today."

"I don't blame you," emphasized Tracy. "But, hey, if you need anything, don't be afraid to run on over, all right? Even if it's just to vent or cry or whatever. I really don't care. You're not going to get an ounce of compassion while living in that damn house."

Heather nodded in agreement. "I know, it's really no different than when I lived at home. Samantha and my mom are turning out to be one in the same. Sad, isn't it?"

"Very," said Tracy.

Heather released a heavy sigh. "Well, I'd better get going before Michael and his tool come back. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, bye."

Heather beckoned for Millie. The teenager then waved to Tracy as she backed out of the driveway. Once the SUV turned onto the road, Heather led Millie into the barn and poured a couple of heaping cups of food into the canine's dish. "I'm sorry, Millie," she said, "but I can't play with you tonight. It's just too risky. I promise to play with you in the morning, though, okay?" The dog responded by licking the girl's hand. "I'll take that as a yes."

Heather wiped her hand on her pant leg. Then, she walked to the farmhouse and snuck inside. She hurried up the stairway to Michael's old room. After closing the door silently behind her, she flopped down on the bed. She wanted sleep to come quickly, but just like the night before, it stubbornly eluded her.

Heather simply stared up into the ceiling as they minutes slowly clicked by. Darkness eventually crept into the room, yet the house remained eerily still. Finally, she heard the front door open, and a female voice filtered up through the floorboards.

"Thanks for taking me home today, Michael. There was just something special about you fucking me in my own bed."

Heather angrily punched her pillow as Michael and Diane's footsteps traveled upstairs.

"Speaking of fucking, are you up for more?" Diane asked.

Something hard suddenly hit Heather's closed door, followed by a loud throaty moan.

" _You bastard_ ," the teenager hissed through clenched teeth.

The killer noisily unzipped his and Diane's clothes.

"Oh god, Michael, yes," the Tool encouraged. "Fuck my wet pussy."

She wasn't kidding. Heather could hear Diane's juices sloshing around the Boogeyman's cock as he pounded her. Thankfully, it didn't take long for Diane to come. Once she did, the couple moved down the hallway to their own bedroom.

Tears of anger welled up in Heather's eyes. She had to stop herself from chucking a pillow at the door. She had to be stronger than that. Michael was purposely trying to get under her skin, and she couldn't let that happen, not only after two nights. Where was her fortitude? If she could survive two years of abuse from her fiancé, she could definitely survive this, too.

With a renewed sense of determination, Heather tucked herself in underneath her quilt. She didn't care anymore about the sounds emitting from the larger bedroom. She barely even heard them as she delved into her memories of better times.

She recalled when her dad had first taught her how to ride a two-wheeler bike. She had fallen at first and skinned her knee, but he had urged her back onto the bike. She remembered how proud he had been when she had ridden from one street corner to the other without losing her balance.

Heather closed her eyes and saw her dad's contagious smile and gleaming green eyes. She also saw her mother and older sister clapping alongside of him. Laughing, she waved at them.

"Keep going, sunshine!" her dad shouted. "Go chase the sun!"

And that's exactly what she did.


	9. June 20, 2010

**ONE DAY LATER**

 **Pebble Creek, Illinois**

 **June 20, 2010**

Feeling the warmth of the sun's rays on her face is what eventually woke Heather from her sound slumber. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up. She did not want to linger in the house any longer than necessary, so she hurried to the bathroom still dressed in her navy t-shirt and jeans from the day before.

Heather splashed a handful of cold water on her face and used the toilet. Then, she headed downstairs. When she heard voices in the kitchen, she quietly ducked out the front door. She wasn't much of a runner, but she jogged to the barn. Millie was gnawing on the remnants of a fresh kill. "Michael's still feeding you, huh?" she asked.

The black and white animal looked up and barked.

"Of course it's better than dog food," Heather replied, smirking. "Just be careful of the bones."

Millie simply wagged her tail.

Although it was still early, Heather was itching to go back to Tracy's house. She knew the Hoffmans wouldn't mind if she arrived a few hours earlier than planned. They were good people, who seemed to genuinely care about her well-being. They were the type of people she needed to be around right now.

Heather waited until her companion finished eating before saying, "Millie, you wanna go for a walk?"

Barking excitedly, the dog bounded towards the barn's entrance.

"All right," the teenager laughed. "Let's go."

Heather and Millie meandered into the woods, heading away from the barn and the farmhouse. When they neared the log Michael had been sitting on the day she had found him unmasked, Heather briefly paused to look at it. She clearly remembered the killer's face, much like she remembered her dad's. Both had been forever ingrained in her memory.

Millie suddenly whined. Startled, Heather looked around but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. However, she had a strong hunch that they were not wandering the woods alone. She could practically feel the Boogeyman's black eyes spying on them from somewhere within the shadows. That was when she realized that he had still been in the barn upon her arrival. Millie had barked to alert her of his presence.

"Thanks for the warning, Millie," Heather whispered. "I'll try to pay better attention from now on."

Heather and Millie arrived to the Hoffmans without incident. The teenager rang the doorbell. A few moments later Tracy greeted them.

"Hey, you're early," the brunette said. "My mom's just making breakfast now. Are you hungry?"

"I'm making waffles!" Clara called from the kitchen.

"Yes, thank you," Heather answered.

Millie sat down on her haunches and released a series of high-pitched whines. Heather couldn't figure out what had gotten into her dog until she saw Jane scooting towards the door.

"Millie, what is _that_?" the blonde girl asked. "Is that a baby?"

The dog cocked her head as though she was trying to figure out what a baby was.

Jane smiled and lunged at the animal. Millie instantly leapt to her feet, looking quite perplexed.

Heather laughed. She instinctively picked Jane up and commanded Millie to sit. Then, she carefully introduced the baby to the dog. "Jane, this is Millie. She's a doggie."

The teenager slowly reached out Jane's hand for Millie to sniff. "Stay...good girl, Millie," she praised when her canine friend remained motionless, save for her twitching nose. "Jane just wants to say hi, don't you Jane?"

The baby giggled as the dog gently licked her tiny fingers. Heather instinctively kissed the top of Millie's head. "You're such a good girl, Millie. See? Babies aren't so bad. They're just as curious as you are."

"How's it going out here?" Robert asked, coming to the door.

"Fine," Tracy replied.

"Looks like Millie is doing all right with Jane," Robert noted. "Heather, do you want to bring them both inside? It's already getting warm out here."

Heather studied her dog for a long moment and said. "I'm not sure how housetrained Millie is. She's been living in a barn for the last couple of months, and she came to me as a stray."

"It's all right," Robert told her. "We have baby gates and doors, and if she gets too rambunctious, she can go out into the backyard for a bit. I just don't think it's fair for her to be stuck in a garage all day."

"Yeah, okay," Heather agreed. "We can give it a try." She passed Jane to Robert. Then, one by one she rubbed Millie's paws on the doormat just to make sure they wouldn't make a mess on the carpet. "All right, Millie, you can go in now." The instant the dog ran into the living room, the teenager grimaced. "Oh my god, she looks like a horse."

Robert chuckled. "It will be fine, Heather. Trust me. Now, come inside and eat while the food's warm."

Both Heather and Tracy obeyed. As the former took off her shoes in the foyer, the latter journeyed into the kitchen. Meanwhile, Robert shifted Jane in his arms and closed the front door.

"Just to let you know, Michael was watching you," he said.

Heather looked up at him. "This whole time? How do you know?"

"I saw him for a brief second just now."

"He must have wanted you to see him, then, because I searched for him on my way here and saw no sign of him anywhere."

"Or maybe he unintentionally let his guard down. It could be that his feelings for you are affecting him more than you know."

"I highly doubt that," Heather said. "He had sex with Diane right against my bedroom door last night just to goad me."

"Which only proves my point," Robert insisted. "If Michael's not capable of stopping himself from loving you, then what better way to play with your emotions than having intercourse with someone else in close proximity to you." He dipped his voice low and added, "Also, too, knowing you were right there could have been a real turn on for him. If his feelings for you _are_ that strong, he might need the extra help, if you know what I mean."

"Hey, are you three coming?" Clara asked from behind the baby gate blocking off the kitchen. "The waffles are getting cold."

Robert nodded. "Yes, dear, we're coming." He turned his attention back onto Heather and said, "One more thing before we eat. Keep in mind that fucking Diane is not only hurting you but Michael as well. Let's just see once how this all plays out."

Heather simply nodded as she walked with Robert and Jane to the kitchen table. She was very thankful that the Hoffmans understood her situation and were sympathetic towards her cause. That in itself would help get her through the tough times.

After breakfast, Clara left to go to the drugstore. Heather and Tracy cleaned up the kitchen together and then went outside with Millie.

"Hey, Heather, can I take some pictures of you before you change your look?" Tracy asked.

The blonde girl shrugged. "Yeah, sure, I guess."

"Great. Let me get my camera. I'll be right back."

Tracy ran into her house, leaving Heather and Millie alone in her vast backyard. The teenager laughed as she and her canine companion chased either around the plush lawn. Now that no one was watching her, she was able just to be herself. "Oh, Millie, this feels so good!" she exclaimed. She let her dog catch up with her and together they sat down on the grass by the pool. "I love you so much," Heather told Millie while scratching the dog between the ears. "I'm really glad Michael let me keep you."

"Hey, guys; I'm back," Tracy announced, dropping to the ground next to Heather.

Heather looked down at her friend's empty hands. "Where's your camera?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Tracy replied. "I already took some pictures of you."

Heather sighed deeply. "I _really_ have to start paying more attention to my surroundings. I just got so caught up playing with Millie."

Tracy nodded. "I know. I took some great shots of you. You looked so happy."

"Yeah, for a moment there, I was," Heather honestly said.

The brunette gazed over the pool's clear water. "If you could take back sleeping with Michael, would you?"

"No, because then I'd still be living with my psychotic mother and fiancé with no hope of escape."

Tracy eyed Heather's left wrist and said, "Except death."

The blonde girl absently touched the faint scar. "I know it must seem cowardly to you, but I was ready to die. I was so angry with Michael for saving me. I wanted to be with my dad, again."

"And now?" asked Tracy.

"Now I have too much to live for," Heather simply said.

The sound of a garage door opening caught the teenagers' attention.

"That would be my mom," Tracy said, rising to get feet. "Come on, let's see what she bought."

Heather and Millie followed Tracy through the back door. Clara was in the kitchen. She had unbagged a few items and had placed them on the table.

"So, what do you think?" the woman asked.

Heather pursed her lips together as she gazed upon the box of strawberry-blonde hair dye, the box of green non-prescription contacts, and a pair of plum plastic-framed eyeglasses.

"Heather, you don't have to do this," Clara kindly said.

The blonde teenager sighed. "Yes, I do. I cannot be confined to my room when Michael and Diane are home, and I want to show Samantha that I'm not going anywhere. I want to prove to both her and Michael that I'm a lot stronger than they think I am."

Clara put the items back into the paper grocery bag. "All right. Let's go downstairs, then, and get started."

* * *

"So…? What do you think?"

Heather stared into the mirror she was holding. She moved it in every direction possible, not believing that the teenager with the curly shoulder-length ginger hair and sage-green eyes was her. "No one will recognize me," she voiced at last, "not even Michael."

"Don't worry, Heather," Clara said. "He'll still know it's you. Remember, looks are only skin deep. The essence of who you are will still shine through, despite this transformation."

The teenager merely nodded.

"Speaking of which, you'll need to come up with a new name to call yourself," Clara said. "Keeping it Heather is much too dangerous."

"Shit, I never even thought of that," the ginger admitted. "Can you think of one for me?"

Clara appeared thoughtful for a long moment. "Well, my roommate's name in college was Ashley Hicks."

"Ashley, huh?" Heather asked, gazing into the mirror, again. Although changing her hair and eye color made her look more distinctive, she was already missing her dirty blonde hair and stone-gray eyes.

"I know it's hard right now, Ashley, but you'll start to get used to it," Clara comforted. "And, remember, nothing we did is permanent. At night, you'll be able to take your contacts out and see the real you."

Heather nodded. "Yeah, I know. It's just I never thought I'd miss my plain looks."

" _Plain?_ " Clara repeated, clearly surprised by Heather's blunt description of herself. "I thought they were anything but, especially your eyes. It's a shame we had to change their color, but they are simply too recognizable. Everyone who has seen your portrait knows you have gray eyes."

"That's because the majority of the photos are in black and white," Heather jested.

Clara snickered. "Very funny, Ashley. Now, here put these on." She handed the teenager the pair of plum eyeglasses. Their oval lenses were also non-prescription, just like the contacts.

"Oh, that's even better, yet," the woman commended once the glasses were in place. "Look."

Heather held up the mirror and studied her face. "I really do look like Ashley Hicks now," she said.

"Exactly. Now, go show Tracy your new look while I clean up. We'll start your sewing lessons after lunch."

Heather nodded and walked upstairs. She found her friend in the kitchen warming up a bottle for Jane. Tracy turned and gasped.

"Oh my god. Heather? Is that really you?"

The ginger slowly shook her head. "No, I'm Ashley Hicks. Heather Veers took a spontaneous vacation to Hawaii."

"You wish," Tracy laughed. "No, but seriously, you look so different. I barely recognized you."

"Good," Heather said. "That was the point. I just hope my disguise will be enough to fool Diane."

"I honestly don't see how it won't. I mean, even your hair is curlier now that it's shorter. I don't think anyone is going to be able to identify you as Heather Veers unless they know you very well."

Heather absently touched the jagged scar that was concealed underneath her newly trimmed bangs. That was her most identifiable feature, aside from her eyes. Well, that and the scars, which marred her back. However, only Sean, Samantha, Michael, and most likely Sean's three friends knew about those.

"Hey, you okay?" Tracy quietly asked as she pulled Jane's bottle out of the microwave.

Nodding, Heather lowered her hand. "Yeah, fine."

Clara entered the kitchen and smiled at her daughter. "So, Tracy, what do you think?"

"She definitely doesn't look like Heather Veers anymore."

"I agree," Robert said upon entering the kitchen. He walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a package of chicken breasts.

"You don't like it," Heather guessed.

"It will serve its purpose," he answered while ripping the plastic off the chicken's foam tray. "That's all that matters, isn't it?"

The younger reluctantly nodded. "Yeah, it is."

Tracy turned to her and held up the baby bottle. "I have to feed Jane."

"I'll come with you," Heather said.

The girls wandered into the den where the baby and the dog were playing with each other. Jane was tossing toys for Millie to fetch. Tracy handed the bottle to her baby sister. Millie looked slightly put out when Jane chose the drink over entertaining her.

"You are such a goofy dog, Millie," chuckled Heather.

"One of the few bright spots in your life," Tracy astutely noted.

"Michael, who hates dogs, helped save her and then let me keep her," Heather said. "He still feeds her, too. I thought that would have stopped when he got back."

"So, what you're saying is Millie's like yours and Michael's child."

The ginger scoffed at first, but when she actually thought about it, Tracy's words made sense. "I never really thought of it that way, but, yeah, I guess she kind of is. Besides the babies, she's the one thing still binding us together."

Heather placed a hand on her belly and sighed. "Sometimes I don't think the babies are enough. You would think if he was really concerned about them, he'd stick around more. He must really trust Samantha. And also you and your family," she added.

"Not as much as you might think," said Tracy. "I want you to see something. Stay here."

Heather obeyed. She sat down on the floor next to Jane and stacked up a few blocks for the baby to knock over. When Jane giggled and clapped her hands, Heather repeated the process, adding more blocks to the tower to make it taller.

Jane ended up pushing it down hard, scattering blocks everywhere. "Okay, obviously too many blocks," Heather laughed as she surveyed the messy floor.

Millie suddenly whined, drawing the teenager's attention away from Jane. "What?" she asked, still smiling. "Feeling left out?" But the grin instantly faded from her lips just as Tracy returned with the camera.

"My dad isn't the only one to see the Boogeyman," the brunette said, confirming what Heather had begun to suspect. "Look."

Tracy turned the camera around to show the other teenager a snapshot on its screen. Heather stared at the image that showed her and Millie running in the yard together. Barely visible within a clump of trees behind them was a sliver of something white.

Tracy pointed to that exact spot on the screen and said, "Right there. See? That's him, isn't it?"

Heather mutely nodded.

"I took this picture from upstairs in my room. It's the only one he's in, but I think he's been loitering around the house all morning."

 _And inside of it,_ thought Heather. Now, she couldn't shake the sensation of being watched. "Oh, god," she muttered.

Tracy looked at her. "Are you all right?"

Heather took a deep breath and said, "I'll be back in a few minutes." She left the den and headed directly upstairs. Somehow she knew that's where the Boogeyman would be.

Heather didn't bothering opening any doors other than the one facing the backyard. She peeked into Tracy's bedroom. The room appeared to be empty, but she knew better than to trust her eyes. They had failed her all day thus far.

Heather cautiously walked to the window where Tracy had taken the first picture of her. She gazed out across the backyard and could distinctly see the trees that the killer had hidden amongst while she had been busy playing with Millie. "Damn Boogeyman," she uttered under her breath.

The door to the bedroom suddenly clicked shut. Heather slowly turned, already knowing who was in the room with her. She and Michael silently regarded one another for a long moment. It was the first time they had seen each other since he had locked her in her bedroom. She had no idea what to say to him, except for, "I'm sorry I broke our deal the other night. I never meant to put myself or our babies in danger; I was just scared for Diane's safety. I hadn't realize you two had become friends. I had just assumed -"

The Boogeyman's eyes narrowed within the eyeholes of his mask.

"Well, you obviously know what I had assumed," Heather shamefully finished. "I should have known better. I'm really sorry, Michael."

Heather waited for a response. However, the only one she received was a blank stare.

As she and the killer stood toe-to-toe, the atmosphere between them became uncomfortably heavy. "Why are you here?" she eventually questioned, her tone quiet.

Michael stood completely motionless, yet something in his demeanor subtly changed. Heather scrutinized him, anxious to discover the motive behind his visit.

"Are you intending to hurt anyone inside this house?" she bluntly asked. When Michael cocked his head at her, she sighed and said, "Other than me?"

He quickly straightened his head and gave it a negative shake.

Although Heather felt relieved for the her dog and the Hoffmans, his ominous answer made her nervous for her own well-being. At least she knew he wouldn't do anything to her that would risk the health of their babies. Yet, she remembered all the ways Sean had hurt her, and many of his tactics wouldn't have harmed a baby - hell, not even being gang raped had physically harmed the twins. It was her mental instability afterwards that had almost caused their death - a fact the Boogeyman was well aware.

"What do you want from me, Michael?" Heather impatiently voiced. "You have Diane now to keep you occupied. Go spend some time with her. I'm sure she's missing you. In the meantime, I'm going back downstairs before Tracy comes up here to check on me. Enjoy the rest of your day, Mr. Boogeyman."

Heather turned to leave the room but was stopped short when the killer roughly grabbed her arm. She instantly felt a familiar tug in her belly, but she refused to give into it. "Michael, you can't have us both," she sternly stated. "I will _not_ go through that, again."

His gaze dropped down to the diamond on her finger, his expression unreadable.

Anger, however, seeped into Heather's soul. Even after everything she had allowed Sean to do to her, he, too, had felt it necessary to find someone else. If he was searching for love, then why the hell had he given her a ring? Their engagement was a complete farce - even Michael knew that - yet that did not change the fact that she was engaged and fully expected to marry her abusive fiancé.

The Boogeyman eventually raised his fathomless black eyes back to Heather's. She stared into them, wishing she was capable of reading his thoughts. "I need to leave," she muttered at last. "Please let me go."

To her surprise, Michael released her arm, though the warmth of his hand lingered on her skin. God, how much she missed his touch - how much she missed _him_! Part of her wanted him to throw her on Tracy's bed and fuck her, but, instead, he let her leave the bedroom with her dignity intact.

Admittedly, that was for the best, yet being that close to him, again, confirmed that Heather's love for the Boogeyman was just as strong as it was before, if not stronger. Was he experiencing the same feelings? If so, then Robert had been correct in saying that being with Diane would never truly satisfy the killer. But what did that mean for Heather? She supposed only time would tell.

"Is everything okay?" Tracy asked when Heather entered the den.

"I found Michael," the ginger murmured, "but he assured me that he isn't going to hurt any of you."

"Then, why is he here?"

Heather shrugged. "I don't know. He never talks, so your guess is as good as mine."

"You don't think that something's wrong with the babies, do you?"

"No," Heather quickly replied. "If the babies were in trouble, he would have remedied the situation. I think this has more to do with me right now than them."

Tracy nodded. "At least if he's here, then you know he isn't with Diane."

"Which will only piss off Samantha even more."

"Yeah, but she won't dare do anything to you that will harm the Boogeyman's babies," Tracy said. "She'll probably just give you a good tongue-lashing."

Heather scoffed. "And I'm used to that."

Clara suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Super's almost ready. Would you girls mind setting the table for me while I change Jane."

"No, not at all, Clara," Heather politely answered as Tracy's mother walked over to the baby and picked her up.

Once Mrs. Hoffman left the den, the two teenagers made their way to the kitchen. Tracy grabbed four dinner plates from a cupboard and passed them to Heather. Together, they placed plates, silverware, and glasses on the table.

"That looks great, girls," complimented Robert, who was joined by his wife and baby.

"Thanks, Dad," Tracy replied, grinning.

"So, who's hungry?" he asked. "We've got plenty to eat."

Robert wasn't kidding. By the time Heather finished eating, her stomach felt very full, though her mind felt a little emptier. During the course of the meal, she she had told Tracy's parents about the Boogeyman's mysterious visit and of her refusal to sleep with him.

"Ashley, you're looking tired," Clara noted as she starting clearing the table. "Tracy, why don't you take her up to your room to rest while Robert and I clean up the kitchen? Our sewing lessons can wait for a bit."

"Thanks, but I'm okay," Heather assured her friend's mother. "I'd rather help you, if you don't mind."

"Ashley -"

"It's all right, Clara," Robert interrupted. "If Ashley feels like helping, she can."

Heather simply nodded and started collecting the dirty dishes from the table.

"I'll help, too, then," said Tracy.

Although cleaning kept Heather physically busy, it gave her thoughts a chance to wander. She couldn't get Michael out of her mind. "He was here," she murmured. "He was here, and I turned him away."

Robert immediately walked up behind Heather and laid a hand on her back. "You did the right thing," he said. "He's the one who brought Diane into the fold. Let him deal with the consequences of that decision."

"My husband is right," Clara affirmed. "Allowing Michael to have sex with you while he is still with Diane would be detrimental to your mental health. You showed great strength by standing your ground, considering how much you love him."

"Maybe, but he didn't push me either," Heather said. "If he had, I'm not sure I would have been able to fight him. My feelings for him are just too strong."

"Well, if he ever _does_ push you for sex, then that will mean he needs more than what Diane can give him," said Robert. "Take that for what it's worth." He dropped his hand and moved away from the ginger.

"So, are you ready for your sewing lesson now?" Clara asked, changing the subject.

"Yes, absolutely," Heather answered.

"Good. Let me put Jane down for her nap, and then I'll meet you and Tracy in my sewing room."

"Sure, Mom," Tracy said, speaking for both teenagers. She led the way down the hallway to a room that not only housed a sewing machine but dozens of large clear bins, which were filled with material and patterns.

"You'll probably start off by making something basic like a pillow," Tracy told Heather.

"That would be perfect. The one I'm using right now has lost most of its fluff."

Clara walked into the room and said, "We can fix that. Let me show you how."

* * *

By the end of her sewing lesson, Heather had made a new pillow and a forest green pillowcase, which would complement Michael's quilt very nicely.

"I know you want to make stuff for your babies," Clara said, "but taking care of your needs is very important, too. Samantha is only giving you what she thinks is necessary, and obviously cool clothes is not on her list."

Heather glanced down at her jeans and said, "She wants me to dress modestly."

"Which is impractical, especially in this heat. Come, let's go upstairs and see what I have that might fit you."

"Okay," Heather agreed.

The trio trotted upstairs to the master bedroom. When Clara opened her closet door, Heather was half expecting the Boogeyman to jump out; however, he was nowhere to be seen. The teenager suspected he had taken her advice and returned to Diane. Since she had rejected him, there was really no point in him loitering around the Hoffman's house anymore.

"Here's the swimsuit I told you about." Clara said, holding up a tankini. Its top was a white tank top covered with pink and orange Hawaiian flowers. Its bottom was solid orange shorts.

"Oh, it's really cute," Heather said.

"I'm glad you like it. Unfortunately, though, since we just dyed your hair, you won't be able to go swimming today. You may still try it on for size, but first, I want to see if these will fit you." Clara passed Heather two short-sleeved dresses - one plum and the other brown. "I know they're plain, but they'll be a lot cooler than what you're currently wearing."

"They look great."

Tracy raised her eyebrows at Heather. "Well, aren't you going to try them on?"

When the ginger hesitated, a look of comprehension filled Clara's expression. "I get it. We're still strangers to you. Tracy and I will give you some privacy."

"Thank you," replied Heather.

After the Hoffmans left the bedroom, she waited a full minute before undressing, just in case the Boogeyman suddenly appeared - not that he would see anything new. It was just the principle of it. He had no business seeing her naked when he was in a physical relationship with another woman.

Heather slipped on the plum dress and looked at herself in the full-length mirror that hung on the closet door. She hadn't realized how much weight she had actually lost since leaving home. That was probably why Michael had felt the need to intervene. However, she liked her trimmer figure, not that it was going to stay that way for much longer. She had two babies growing inside of her, and soon it would start to show.

The plum dress fit her well enough, so Heather didn't bother trying on the green one. Instead, she picked up the bathing suit. As she stepped into the orange shorts, she caught sight of her back in the mirror. The scars still bothered her, mostly because they showed that she hadn't been strong enough to stop Sean. Looking at the scars brought back all those memories - memories that had started healing during her first six weeks with Michael. She had told him stuff that had been bottled up inside of her since her very first time with Sean. Although he hadn't offered her any words of solace, she had found it by merely being in his presence.

That intimate connection they shared was something the teenager had never experienced before. She had never felt closer to anyone than she did with Michael. They had a special bond together, which was evident when he had allowed her to see his real face. However, that hadn't stopped him from leaving and finding another woman to fuck. Yet, at the same time, he still obviously wanted Heather, which could prove dangerous for both girls. But just how dangerous was anybody's guess.

A rap on the door broke Heather of her thoughts. She quickly pulled up her shorts and reached for the swimsuit' floral top. She had just yanked it down over her torso when the bedroom door creaked open.

"It's just us," Tracy said. "May we come in?"

"Sure," Heather replied, running her fingers through her tousled ginger hair.

The brunette gave Heather an appraising look. "That bathing suit looks you really good on you."

"Yes, it does," Clara agreed as she circled the ginger. "How do the dresses fit? Will they give you some room to grow?"

"Yes," said Heather.

"Fantastic. You're all set, then. You may wear one of the dresses now, if you want, but I think it would be best if the clothes stayed here. I don't trust Samantha with them."

"Neither do I."

"Well, we'll leave you to change. Come along Tracy."

This time Heather quickly switched her new bathing suit for her navy t-shirt and jeans. She didn't think it was worth wearing one of her new dresses for only an hour or two, especially since it was cool inside the Hoffman's house. She laid the clothes on Clara's bed and then stepped out of the bedroom. Tracy was waiting for her by the door.

"Hey, you decided not to wear one of the dresses?"

"Tomorrow," answered Heather. "Or whenever I'm over again."

"Tomorrow will be fine," Tracy said. "Now, come on. Let's hang out in my room for a while."

Heather looked down the hallway. "What about Millie?"

"Oh, she's in the backyard, but don't worry. My stepdad will take care of her. He loves dogs."

"Okay." Heather followed Tracy into the latter's bedroom. Her eyes instinctively darted around the room as they searched for any sign of the Boogeyman.

"You're looking for Michael," Tracy knowingly stated.

Heather nodded, admitting her guilt. "This is where I found him before."

"Do you think he's still stalking you?" the brunette quietly asked.

"I doubt it, but he could be."

Tracy walked to her closet, abruptly yanked its door open, and peered inside. "No sign of the Boogeyman in here," she informed the ginger.

"He's too stealthy to be seen." Heather sat down on her friend's bed and sighed. "I'm sorry, Tracy. I'm starting to act really paranoid now, aren't I?"

"Maybe just a little," she said. "What you need to do is relax and let him slip from your mind for awhile."

"Yeah, you're right," Heather agreed. "So, do _you_ have boyfriend or anything?" she questioned, changing the subject.

Tracy shook her head. "I did, but we broke up during the school year. I do have Matt, though. He's my best friend. We've known each other since second grade."

"I'm envious," Heather admitted. "I'm not that close with anyone, not even with my own sister."

Tracy's eyes instantly lit up. "Oh, you have a sister?"

The ginger nodded. "Yeah, Gina. She left for college last Fall, and I haven't seen much of her since."

Tracy frowned. "She never comes home to visit?"

"Sure she does," said Heather, "but she keeps busy with friends, and I had been living with my fiancé on the weekends, so our time together was very limited."

"That's so sad."

"Maybe, but it worked out better that way. We never got along really well, and it only got worse after our dad died - _everything_ got worse after he died."

"I lost my dad, too," Tracy stated. "Not to death, but to a woman oversees when I was ten. It left me and my mom heartbroken. Then, a few years later she met Robert while she was working at a diner. They hit it off right away and were married the following year. It's been crazy, but I'm really happy now."

The brunette gave Heather a long look and asked, "So, what happened to _your_ dad?"

"He and I were coming home from a shopping trip when we were hit head-on by another car that had weaved into our lane. Both my dad and the other driver were killed instantly. I was left barely alive with a severe head injury." Heather lifted her bangs to show her companion the puckered scar on her temple. "I was in a coma for two weeks, but by the time I woke up from it, my head was pretty much healed."

"Oh my god," Tracy gasped. "I remember hearing about that accident. You were dubbed 'The Miracle Child'. No one expected you to live."

"That's what I was told," Heather replied.

"That must have been terrifying."

The ginger shrugged, purposely avoiding her few memories of the crash. "I honestly don't remember too much about it."

"That's probably for the best," comforted Tracy, "especially since your dad was killed."

"Yeah."

The brunette sat down next to Heather and said, "Losing a parent, no matter how, sucks, but at least I still had my mom. You didn't even have that."

Heather shook her head. "No, I didn't have anyone. Most of my classmates knew what I had been through, but no one once offered me their friendship. I always wondered what was wrong with me. Sometimes I still do."

Tracy gave her a long look and said, "There's nothing wrong with you, Ashley, and I have no problem with being your friend."

Heather smiled warmly at the brunette. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

"You're welcome. So, now what do you want to do?"

The ginger glanced at the clock sitting on Tracy's nightstand and sighed. It was already almost five o'clock. "Where did the day go?" she wondered out loud. "I really don't want to go back to Samantha's."

"I don't blame you," Tracy said. "Did you at least want to stay for dinner? We'll probably be eating soon."

Heather considered her friend's offer but then shook her head. "Thanks, but no. I should eat at Samantha's. Then, I can go right to bed."

"Yeah, I get it," Tracy said. "Just sucks for you."

"I'll be okay," Heather assured her. "Besides, we'll hang out again tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know." Tracy rose to her feet and walked to her bedroom door. "Come on, I'll see you out."

* * *

After taking care of Millie, Heather sauntered into Samantha's farmhouse with her new pillow in hand. She found both Samantha and Diane making dinner in the kitchen. They were standing at the counter with their backs facing the threshold and chatting away just like they were old friends.

"I need a cup of milk and a stick of butter," Samantha suddenly said as she reached for a stainless steel mixing bowl from the cupboard above her.

Diane turned towards the refrigerator. Her ocean-blue eyes instantly widened when they landed on Heather loitering in the doorway.

The teenager instantly frowned. Diane was nothing short of a blonde bombshell. Her long golden locks perfectly framed her heart-shaped face, which consisted of deep aqua eyes and full pink lips. She looked as though she should have been gracing the cover of a fashion magazine instead of standing inside an old farmhouse.

"Who are _you_?" Diane harshly demanded, sizing Heather up.

The ginger almost laughed at the thought that Diane was intimidated by her. Surely, it should have been the other way around. Strangely enough, though, it wasn't. Heather did not feel at all threatened by the Tool's beauty. On the contrary, it only strengthened her resolve to hold onto Michael's love.

Heather met the blonde's hard stare with one of her own. "I'm Ashley Hicks." she curtly replied. "And you are…?"

"Diane Traxler." Her blue eyes abruptly shifted upwards, and a bright smile spread across her features. "Michael!"

Heather moved into the kitchen as Diane ran up to the Boogeyman.

"Hey, I've missed you today." The blonde gave him a brief kiss on his masked lips. "Where have you been? Killing?"

He briefly shook his head.

It was then Heather realized that Michael had spent the entire day with her, which meant nothing she had said or done at the Hoffman's had gone unnoticed by him. Absolutely nothing. _Oh, god, no!_ she inwardly gasped, now knowing that he had indeed seen her naked.

"I still need that milk and butter," Samantha stated while gazing upon her nephew.

"I'll get it," Heather offered, grateful for the distraction. She set her pillow down on the table before walking to the refrigerator to grab the two items. Diane watched her with a look of disdain on her face.

"No one really did answer my question about Ashley," the blonde said.

"She is a family acquaintance, who got knocked up and has nowhere else to stay," Samantha simply replied.

Heather curtly set the gallon of milk and a stick of butter down on the counter in front of Michael's aunt. Then, she claimed her seat at the table.

Diane directed her attention to the ginger. "Is that true?"

"Yes," she bluntly confirmed.

Diane eyed the karat diamond on the the teenager's finger. "Where's your fiancé? Shouldn't _he_ be taking care of you?"

"He and I are working through some issues right now," said Heather, vaguely.

"So, your stay is just temporary, then?" Diane pressed.

Heather cocked her head at her. "Does it really matter?"

"Yes," snapped the blonde. "I don't want you here."

"Well, that's just too bad, because I'm not going anywhere," Heather quipped, her own temper rising.

"Girls!" Samantha scolded. "That's enough, both of you. Dinner will be ready soon. In the meantime, why don't you two find something else to do, preferably away from each other."

Diane instantly looked at Michael. "I know what _I'd_ like to do…" She reached for his hand. "Are you game?"

When he gave his head a sharp nod, Heather's heart sank. His tool, however, beamed.

"Great!" Diane exclaimed. "Let's go upstairs to our room."

Once they left, Samantha said, "So...my nephew spent the day stalking you."

"Apparently so," Heather answered.

"And how does that make you feel knowing he was watching your every move?"

Heather remained silent, because the truth was she felt violated. Michael had intentionally invaded her privacy after she had specifically ordered him to leave the Hoffmans' house. There was no excuse for that.

"It will only get worse," Samantha warned. "It honestly would have been better for you if he had just stayed away."

"Yeah, well, now that I know he's going to be stalking me, I'll just have to be more careful."

"My nephew will drive you to distraction," Samantha said. "You'll start seeing him everywhere even when he's not there. And, you will never know on what day he has chosen to be with you or Diane. He specializes in mind games."

Heather smirked at the older woman. "I have a feeling you both do. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to my room to rest." Grabbing her pillow, she rose to her feet. "Oh, and don't bother calling me for dinner; I ate already. Michael can attest to that."

Heather calmly strode out of the kitchen but then stormed up to the killer's former bedroom. She barely even heard the sounds of him and his tool fucking above her anger. _So, this is how it's going to be, huh_? she asked herself. _Well, fine. I'm not going to stop living a normal life just because I'm scared of what Michael might see or hear. I have every right to be myself. If he ever finds fault with that, then I will deal with the consequences. But I will never turn into one of his helpless victims, nor will I ever stop loving him,_ she mentally vowed. _No matter what._

Heather tossed her new pillow onto her bed. She was about to join it when she suddenly felt the urge to pee. Dammit. She had just gone at the Hoffmans before she left, too. She really didn't want to go downstairs and risk facing Samantha, again, so she decided to venture down the hall to the half-bath.

Heather quickly did her business and washed her hands. She stepped out of the small bathroom just as Diane said, "I'd be glad to give you a blow job, Michael, if you'd let me." There was a moment's pause before she said, "Why not? I've been told I'm good at them." A little longer pause. "Okay, fine, I get it. You don't want one. Do you at least want to taste _me_?"

Heather heard the sudden rustling of clothes. She scampered to her bedroom and closed the door with a small click.

"Oh, come on, Michael. It was only a suggestion," Diane loudly said. "There's no need to leave because of it. I just thought it would be fun for us to try…"

The firm closing of a door sounded next, followed by steady footsteps that briefly stopped right outside Heather's door before traveling down the wooden stairway. She released a gradual breath, not quite sure what to make of the Boogeyman's actions. Although Heather was the first girl he had ever tasted, he had enjoyed it so much, she was certain he would have liked to experience it, again. Obviously, she had been mistaken. Oral sex was clearly not something Michael routinely indulged in.

Heather felt a small flutter inside her belly that had nothing to do with the babies. She hastily shed her jeans. After ducking underneath Michael's quilt, she slid a hand into her panties. She touched her damp pussy. Sighing softly, she worked two fingers down into her folds.

Heather pumped her fingers hard and fast. She was right on the cusp of coming when someone knocked on her door. Beyond irritated, she pulled her fingers out of her wetness and wiped them off the beige fitted bed sheet that covered her mattress. "Who is it?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"It's Diane. Look, I know we didn't exactly start out on the right foot, but I'd really like to talk to you."

Heather pursed her lips together. She had no interest in becoming the Tool's friend. However, as the adage stated, _keep your friend close and your enemies closer_. She decided it would be best to heed that advice. "Yeah, sure, come on in."

The door opened and Diane instantly sniffed the air. "Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb your alone time."

Heather shrugged. "It's fine. What do you want?"

The blonde shut the door. "I was just wondering about your relationship with Michael. How familiar are you with him?"

The ginger sat up, making sure to keep her bare legs tucked in the quilt. "Why? What do you want to know?"

"I don't know. Samantha said you were a family friend, so I thought maybe you have seen him with other girls."

Heather instantly shook her head. "Sorry, no. He keeps his personal life very private, especially since he never speaks."

"He does give nonverbal cues, though," Diane disputed. "I mean, I can tell what he likes and doesn't like."

"Then, why are we talking?" Heather implored.

"Because I get the feeling that you two are close - that maybe you've slept him before, too. After all, you _are_ very pretty. He can't blind to that."

Scoffing, the teenager raised her left hand. "I'm flattered that you think I'm pretty, Diane, but I am engaged, and it's obviously not to him."

The blonde lowered her voice. "Listen, I get that you don't want to talk about it, but I understand how persuasive he can be, especially when he wants something very badly."

Heather dropped her hand and toyed with her ring. "Is that how he convinced you to sleep with him? Did he seduce you?"

Diane laughed. "Hardly. He came into my room one night, and I woke up to him watching me. Something about him being there really turned me on. I took my clothes off and let him see my tits and pussy, but he refused to touch them. He left the next morning only to return that same night. That time there was no denying him. He wanted to fuck me, and I was glad to oblige. It was amazing. I'd never been fucked that lavishly before. I was hooked right away.

"He and I fucked every chance we got after that. Then, after a few weeks, he ended up drugging me and bringing me here. The funny thing is, I would have come willingly, but maybe he was afraid of your reaction? Like I said, you two seem really close."

"We are," Heather agreed, "but not like that, not anymore. We're just friends now."

Diane looked skeptical. "Really? Are you sure? Because sometimes I get the feeling he wishes I was someone else - and then I saw you, and it all made sense. That's why I said what I did."

"Don't worry about me, Diane," Heather urged. "You're gorgeous. I'm sure any feelings he has towards me will soon begin to fade."

"I somehow doubt that, not when he was with you all day today."

The teenager shook her head. "Trust me, it's more complicated than you think. He's trying to move on from me, which is why he's with you."

"Maybe _he's_ trying to move on, but are _you_?" Diane questioned.

"Despite having our issues right now, my fiancé would not take kindly to me being in love with another man. He doesn't know that I am staying here, and I pray he never finds out, because he, like you, just wouldn't understand the relationship I have with Michael. I want to remain Michael's friend."

Diane frowned. "No offense, but I'd prefer that you don't."

"Well, no offense, but I'd prefer to leave that decision up to Michael," Heather haughtily retorted. "If he wants to hang out with me, then who's going to stop him? You?"

"You just want him to fuck you, again," snapped Diane.

"No," Heather firmly said. "As long as my engagement ring stays on my finger, I will not consent to have sex with him. He knows that, too."

"Oh, that makes me feel so much better," the blonde flippantly stated.

"It should," Heather blandly answered.

Suddenly, the bedroom door flung open and the Boogeyman himself came stalking into the room. He looked between Heather and Diane, the eyeholes of his mask finally settling on the latter. He abruptly took her hand and ushered her out into the corridor. Heather was expecting Michael to fuck his tool, again, but instead they went downstairs. She heard Samantha greet them at the bottom of the steps.

Heaving a great sigh, the teenager placed her glasses and contact lenses on top of the nightstand that stood next to the bed. She then sank down into the mattress, her horniness long since gone. Maybe now, though, she'd be able to get some much needed sleep. She felt utterly exhausted. She closed her eyes, letting all her troubles slip away until morning.


End file.
